LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

University  of  California. 

GIFT   OF 

Mrs.  SARAH  P.  WALSWORTH. 

Received  October,  i8g4. 
^Accessions  No.^T/JXS'S'    Class  No. 


ik^J^^^^^d '  &*■ 


4jv^riM 


£ 


PASTOR'S    SKETCHES 


PASTOR'S  SKETCHES 


€>vnm&iins  mitlj  aiiiiiins  Sitptms 


RESFECTINO 


THE  WAY  OF  SALVATION. 


BT 

ICHABOD   S.   SPENCER,   D.D. 

PASTOR    OF    SECOND   PRESBYTERIAN    CHURCH,    BROOKLYN,    N.  Y. 


'O  \6xf«?  airtis  rd  dpviov. 


FIFTH   EDITION. 

NEW  YORK: 
PUBLISHED  BY  M.  W.  DODD, 

BRICK  CHURCH  CHAPEL,  CITY  HALL  SQUARE, 
(opposite  the  city  hall.) 


1351. 


ftWVBRSIl 


mrs-if 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850, 

BY    ICHABOD    S.    SPENCER, 

In  tue  Clerk's  Office  for  the  Southern  District  of  New  York. 


STEREOTYPED    BY    THOMAS    B.    SMITH, 
216    WILLIAM    STREET,    N.  Y. 


CONTENTS. 


THE   YOUNG   IRISHMAN,    . 

FAITH    EVERYTHING,     . 

SIMPLICITY    OF    FAITH,      . 

WAITING    FOR    THE    HOLY  SPIRIT, 

BUSINESS    HINDRANCE,       . 

WAITING    FOR    CONVICTION,    . 

NOT    DISCOURAGED, 

RELIANCE    ON    MAN, 

BAD    ADVICE,  .... 

THE    WHOLE    HEART,    . 

THE    WELSH    WOMAN    AND    HER    TENANT, 

THE   HOLY   SPIRIT   RESISTED, 

THE    HEART    PROMISED,    . 

FIXED   DESPAIR, 

TOTAL   DEPRAVITY, 

IGNORANCE    OF    SELF,   . 

SUPERFICIAL    CONVICTION, 

EXCITEMENT, 

ASHAMED   OF    CHRIST, 

THE    LAST   STEP, 

THE    PERSECUTED   WIFE, 

THE    ARROW   DRIVEN   DEEPER, 

DIVIDED  MIND, 

HUMAN   RESOLVES, 


PAGE 

1 

65 
72 
77 
88 
91 
105 
109 
113 
118 
120 
142 
14S 
151 
161 
171 
174 
178 
183 
195 
202 
216 
220 
222 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


I   CAN  T    REPENT, 

A    STRANGE    SNARE, 

FANATICISM, 

A  mother's  PRAYER,  .... 

EASY    TO   BE    A    CHRISTIAN, 

PROSELYTING, 

•THE    OBSTINATE    GIRL, 

CONVICTION    RESISTED, 

DETERMINATION, 

THE  MISERABLE    HEART  (DELUSION  AND  INFIDELITY), 

UNCONDITIONAL    SUBMISSION, 

THE    UNPARDONABLE    SIN, 

ELECTION, 

THE    BROWN   JUG, 

THE    HARVEST    PAST    (THE    DYING    UNIVERSALIST),    . 
DOCTRINES    AND    DEATH, 


PAOR 

324 

237 

247 
250 
25(3 
259 
2G2 
274 
288 
293 
315 
323 
330 
370 
382 
403 


^ipoai 


PREFACE. 


This  is  a  book  of  truth.  These  Sketches  are  taken 
from  real  life.  They  are  facts,  not  fancies.  They  are 
the  experiences  of  some  whom  the  Author  has  known  in 
the  course  of  his  ministry.  He  has  not  given  to  them  an 
item  of  coloring.  The  only  thing  about  them,  from 
which  any  erroneous '  impression  can  possibly  arise,  is  tc 
be  found  in  the  fact,  that  they  are  only  sketches,  not  con- 
taining all  that  could  be  given,  in  respect  to  the  indi- 
viduals here  mentioned.  But  they  are  believed  to  con- 
tain a  fair  and  sufficiently  full  representation  of  each  case. 

The  Author  has  made  this  selection  from  the  mate- 
rials in  his  possession,  on  the  principle  of  avoiding  useless 
repetitions  as  much  as  possible,  and  on  the  principle  of 
meeting  some  of  the  strange  difficulties,  which  sometimes 
trouble  inquirers  after  salvation. 

If  this  humble  volume  shall  fall  into  the  hands  of  any, 
who  recognize  their  own  portrait  among  the  sketches 
here  drawn  ;  the  Author  would  affectionately  suggest  to 
them  the  propriety  of  permitting  that  fact  to  remain  un- 


Vlll  *  PREFACE. 

known.  He  solicits  this  as  a  special  favor  to  himself; 
while  he  assures  them,  he  would  deem  it  an  injustice  and 
a  breach  of  confidence,  to  disclose  to  other  people  the 
particular  feelings  of  individuals,  made  known  to  him  in 
the  sacredness  of  religious  intimacy.  He  has  been  care- 
ful not  to  write  anything  here,  which  can  injure  the  feel- 
ings of  any  living  person.  It  must  be  by  the  person's 
own  act,  not  the  Author's,  if  any  one  of  the  portraits 
here  sketched  is  ever  known  to  the  public,  as  that  of  any 
particular  individual. 

The  most  of  the  instances  here  mentioned  occurred  in 
revivals  of  religion ;  but  the  Author  would  be  sorry  to 
have  it  thought,  that  he  has  any  preference  for  the  piety 
commencing  at  such  a  time,  before  that  which  com- 
mences at  other  seasons.  He  would  also  be  sorry  to  be  at 
all  instrumental  in  leading  any  soul  to  think,  that  salva- 
tion is  not  as  certainly  and  as  easily  attainable  at  any 
other  time,  as  during  a  revival,  if  the  soul  will  as  dili- 
gently seek  it.  It  would  still  more  grieve  him,  to  do 
anything  towards  fostering  those  spurious  excitements,  so 
often  called  revivals,  which  have  done  so  much  to  dis- 
tract the  churches  and  corrupt  the  religion  of  this  coun- 
try. He  has  no  fear  of  any  excitements,  which  divine 
truth  will  produce  ;  and  he  believes,  that,  if  the  truth 
has  produced  them,  they  will  be  ready  and  willing  to  be 
controlled  by  the  truth,  come  from  what  lips  it  may  ; 
and  will  not,  therefore,  induce  the  people  to  rely  upon 
some  particular  men,  "  Hevival  Preachers,"  as  they  are 


PREFACE.  IX 

sometimes  called.  He  would  not  undervalue  revivals  of 
religion,  because  abuses  have  sometimes  crept  into  the 
churches  under  that  name  ;  nor  would  he  dare  to  think 
of  choosing  the  mode,  in  which  the  Holy  Spirit  shall  do 
his  own  blessed  work. 

The  particular  religious  experiences  of  individuals  are 
not  guides  for  other  people.  They  are  only  illustrations 
of  divine  truth,  by  its  application.  The  Sacred  Scrip- 
tures are  the  only  just  guide.  Still,  religious  history  and 
religious  biography,  though  often  abused,  by  an  over- 
trusting,  and  by  a  misguided  taste,  have  some  signal  ad- 
vantages, and,  fitly  used,  may  be  of  peculiar  benefit.  It 
should  be  carefully  remembered,  that  such  biographies 
are  written  for  the  very  reason,  that  they  are  supposed  to 
contain  something  uncommon ;  and  therefore  cannot  be 
applicable,  as  examples,  to  believers,  or  inquirers  in  every 
case.  Nobody  would  ever  think  of  publishing  the  re- 
ligious experience  of  every  believer  in  a.  church  or  city. 

But  the  Author  has  hoped,  that  these  Sketches  might 
be  useful,  not  on  the  ground  of  their  marvelousness,  so 
much  as  on  the  ground  of  their  applicability,  as  they  refer 
to  common  experiences  and  common  difficulties,  which 
have  occurred  under  the  ordinary  ministration  of  a  very 
humble  individual ;  and  are,  therefore,  likely  to  occur 
again.  He  has  hoped,  that  they  might  be  instructive,  by 
showing  the  application  of  divine  truth  to  human  hearts 
— by  leading  some  anxious  inquirers  after  salvation  to  see 
what  it  is  that  hinders  them  from  peace  with  God — and 


X  PREFACE. 

by  leading  private  Christians  and  young  Ministers  of  the 
gospel  to  study  more  carefully  what  they  shall  say  to  those, 
who  inquire  what  they  shall  do  to  he  saved.  Twenty 
years  ago,  he  would  have  valued  a  hook  like  this,  above 
all  price.  And  if  this,  by  the  divine  blessing,  shall  be  of 
any  assistance  to  young  Ministers,  on  a  very  delicate  and 
important  part  of  their  duty,  or  of  any  assistance  to  in- 
quirers after  salvation,  its  purpose  will  be  accomplished. 

Brooklyn,  K  T.,  August,  1850. 


THE    YOUNG   IRISHMAN 


On  a  very  hot  day  in  July,  a  boy  called  at  my 
house  with  a  gentleman's  card,  saying  that  a  lady 
had  sent  him  to  request  me  to  visit  a  young  man, 
who  was  sick.  Both  the  lady  and  the  young  man 
were  strangers  to  me.  I  had  never  heard  of 
either  of  them.  They  resided  more  than  three 
miles  from  me,  in  another  city ;  and  as  I  under- 
stood, the  lady  was  an  attendant  upon  the  min- 
istry of  another  clergyman  who  was  absent  from 
home.  I  could  not  learn  from  the  boy,  why  she 
should  have  sent  for  me.  I  was  very  much  occu- 
pied, the  day  was  intensely  hot,  the  place  was 
distant,  many  other  clergymen  were  more  conve- 
nient to  it.;  and  I  felt  disposed,  for  these  reasons, 
to  excuse  myself  from  going:  As  I  was  consid- 
ering the  matter,  the  boy,  as  if  reading  my 
thoughts,  spoke  out  earnestly,  "  She  said  you 
must  come." 

I   went,   though   I   felt   it   to   be   a   hardship. 


4,  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

Finding  the  street  and  the  number  of  the  house, 
by  the  card  which  was  sent  to  me  ;  I  rang  the 
bell,  and  inquired  for  the  young  man,  whose  name 
was  on  the  card.  I  was  shown  to  his  room.  He 
was  seated  in  an  easy  chair,  with  a  book  in  his 
hand,  and  appeared  somewhat  pale  and  feeble,  but 
not  very  sick.  He  rose  to  receive  me.  I  told 
him  who  I  was,  and  that  the  boy  who  brought 
me  his  card,  said  he  was  sick,  and  would  be  glad 
to  see  me.  He  made  no  reply,  except  to  offer  me 
his  hand  and  ask  me  to  be  seated.  We  had  some 
general  conversation,  in  which  he  took  the  lead. 
But  he  said  nothing  about  his  sending  for  me. 
Aside  from  his  paleness  and  an  occasional  cough, 
I  saw  nothing  in  him  to  indicate  the  presence  of 
any  disease.  He  told  me  something  of  his  history. 
He  was  a  young  Irishman  about  twenty-six  years 
of  age,  was  educated  in  one  of  the  European 
Colleges,  had  studied  law  in  Ireland,  and  design- 
ing to  enter  the  legal  profession  in  this  country, 
had  been  engaged  in  its  studies  here  about  two 
years.  He  was  a  man  of  dignified  appearance, 
of  very  handsome  address,  fluent  in  conversation, 
perfectly  easy  in  his  manners,  and  evidently  of 
a  vivid  mind.  He  had  seen  much  of  the  world, 
and  told  me  he  was  fond  of  society.  But  for  the 
last  six  months,  since  his  health  began  to  decline, 
he  had  been  very  much  secluded,  according  to 
the  advice  of  his  physician.     Said  he,  "I  have 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  3 

been  obliged  to  exchange  the  society  of  living 
men  for  the  society  of  dead  men,  and  was  just 
amusing  myself  with  reading  Tacitus'  De  Moribus 
Grermanomm,  when  you  came  in."  He  mani- 
fested no  disposition  to  advert  to  the  subject  of 
my  visit.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  avoid 
it.  He  so  often  changed  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion, when  I  attempted  to  introduce  it,  that  I  was 
compelled  to  ask  him  plainly,  if  he  desired  to 
see  me  for  any  particular  reason.  He  was  silent 
for  a  moment,  apparently  lost  in  thought,  and  then 
replied : — 

"  It  would  certainly  seem  very  impolite  in  me, 
to  say  I  did  not  wish  to  see  you,  since  you  have 
taken  pains  to  come  so  far  through  the  dust  and 
heat ;  but  I  think  it  would  be  really  impolite  in 
me,  not  to  tell  you  exactly  the  truth.  I  have  an 
old  aunt,  who  is  a  very  religious  woman  ;  and 
she  has  been  urging  me  to  send  for  you,  almost 
ever  since  I  have  been  secluded  here.  She  thinks 
I  am  not  to  live  long,  and  has  talked  to  me  often 
on  the  subject  of  religion.  But  as  she  and  I  could 
not  think  alike,  she  insisted  that  I  ought  to  con- 
verse with  some  minister  of  the  gospel,  and  finally 
became  so  urgent,  that  I  reluctantly  consented. 
But  you  will  allow  me  to  say,  that  I  should  have 
had  no  reluctance  at  all,  at  all,  if  I  had  supposed 
she  was  going  to  lead  me  to  form  so  agreeable 
an  acquaintance." 


4  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

"  I  am  happy  to  know  you,"  said  I,  "  and 
am  glad  it  was  in  my  power  to  obey  your 
call." 

"  It  was  she  that  called"  said  he.  "  When 
I  consented  to  see  a  clergyman,  I  left  the  se- 
lection and  all  the  preliminaries  entirely  to  her, 
and  she  selected  yourself.  I  told  her  the  se- 
lection lay  in  her  line,  as  she  was  religious 
and  I  was  not  ;  and  that  I  should  judge  of 
religion,  very  much  by  the  specimen  of  a  min- 
ister  she  sent   to   me." 

I  answered,  "  I  must  take  care,  then,  how 
I  demean  myself,  if  you  are  going  to  rest 
your  opinion  of  religion  on  that  ground.  And 
I  suppose,  in  equity,  you  will  allow  me  to 
judge  of  the  science  of  Law  in  the  same  man- 
ner." 

"  Ah  !"  said  he,  "I  shall  be  obliged  to  fling 
in  a  demurrer  on  that  point.  I  should  be  sor- 
ry to  have  you  form  your  opinion  of  the  law, 
by  such  a  specimen  of  the  legal  profession  as 
myself." 

"  Your  demurrer  certainly  cannot  avail  anything 
in  your  favor,"  said  I.  "If  it  can  come  in  at  all, 
it  will  be  easy  to  turn  it  against  you.  For,  since 
religion  is  a  much  higher  matter  than  law,  it  is 
not  to  be  demanded,  that  a  man  should  be  as  good 
a  representative  of  it,  as  a  man  should  be  of  law  ; 
and  if  you  demur  at  my  forming  an  opinion  of 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  O 

law  by  the  impression  I  have  about  one  of  its  dis- 
ciples, much  more,  may  I  demur  at  your  forming 
an  opinion  of  religion  on  that  ground." 

"  Well,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  I  cannot  respond 
to  that.  You  have  floored  me,  the  first  onset. 
But  are  you  not  a  lawyer  ?  Your  pleading 
indicates    as   much." 

"  Not  at  all.  I  am  only  a  very  ordinary 
minister. — But  since  your  aunt  has  done  me 
the  honor  to  send  for  me,  I  should  be  happy  to 
form  her  acquaintance.     Does  she  reside  here  ?" 

"  No.  She  lives  a  little  distance  off.  I  must 
tell  you,  she  is  very  retiring,  and  lives  very 
much  secluded,  though  she  spends  much  of  her 
time  with  me  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  she  will 
allow  you  to  see  her  at  all.  She  is  not  so 
young  as  she  used  to  be.  She  has  been  a 
beautiful  woman — an  elegant  woman  ;  and  I 
tell  her,  that  her  pride  keeps  her  away  from 
society  now,  because  she  is  not  so  handsome  as 
she  was  once.  But  she  seems  to  think  that  idea 
a  reflection  upon  her  religion  ;  and  wonders  that 
I  can  think  of  such  a  thing,  and  cannot  have 
sense  and  sobriety  enough  to  rise  above  such  tri- 
fling thoughts." 

"  Wherein  do  she  and  you  differ  on  the  sub- 
ject of  religion  ?" 

11  Really,  sir,  I  can  scarcely  answer  that  ques- 
tion. We  never  differ,  only  in  a  friendly  way. 
l* 


O  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

But,  though  she  is  a  woman  of  very  fine  mind, 
in  my  opinion,  yet  her  notions  are  too  rigid  for 
me." 

"  Perhaps  she  has  examined  the  subject  of 
religion   more   than   you   have." 

"I  have  no  doubt,"  said  he,  "that  she  has 
spent  more  time  over  it.  But  my  mind  is  not 
so  formed  as  to  take  things  upon  trust.  I  want 
knowledge.  I  am  not  prepared  to  yield  to  as- 
sumption   and   dogmatism." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that," 
said  I  ;  "  but  perhaps  you  and  I  should  not 
agree,  in  respect  to  your  aunt's  yielding  to  as- 
sumption and  dogmatism.  We  are  not  accus- 
tomed to  do  that  in  religion.  I  venture  to  af- 
firm, that  your  aunt  is  not  guilty  of  it.  And  I 
do  this,  because  I  know,  that  we  who  espouse  the 
cause  of  religion  are  not  credulous,  assuming,  or 
dogmatic  :  and  on  the  contrary,  the  rejecters  of 
religion  are  themselves  the  most  credulous,  assum- 
ing, and  dogmatic  people  amongst  us." 

"  "Well,  indeed,"  said  he,  "  you  have  fairly  flung 
down  the  gauntlet  to  me." 

"  Not  at  all.  You  flung  it  down  at  the  name 
of  your  aunt ;  and  I,  as  her  champion,  take  it 
up.  I  am  prepared  for  the  contest,  the  very 
moment  you  will  name  any  definite  matter  of 
disagreement  betwixt  yourself   and  her." 

"  I   must   give   you   the    credit   for   no   small 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  7 

gallantry,"  said  he.  "  Your  chivalry  is  of  high 
bearing  indeed,  if  you  will  so  readily  espouse  the 
part  of  a  lady  entirely  a  stranger  to  you,  and  are 
prepared  to  defend  her  opinions,  when  you  do  not 
even  know  them." 

"  I  risk  nothing,  however,"  said  I.  "  And  I  am 
prepared  to  contest  the  point  you  named,  or  any 
other  point.  You  mentioned  her  taking  things 
upon  trust — her  yielding  to  dogmatism  and  as- 
sumption." 

"Yes,  I  did.  But  I  did  not  mean  her  in  par- 
ticular.    I  mean  religionists  in  general." 

"  So  I  supposed.  And  I  now  ask  you  what  it 
is,  that  we  take  upon  trust,  or  assume,  or  wherein 
we  dogmatize,  any  more  than  you  lawyers  dog- 
matize." 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  had  reference  to 
what  my  aunt  is  constantly  saying  about  Grod. 
She  seems  to  me  to  assume  his  existence,  and 
character,  and  government  over  us.  I  tell  her, 
that  /  want  knowledge" 

"  Very  well,"  said  I ;  "  that  is  a  definite  point. 
Let  us  get  it  fixed  clearly  in  mind,  and  then 
bring  it  before  the  bar  of  our  reason.  The  ques- 
tion is  this : — Is  the  existence,  is  the  character,  is 
the  government  of  Grod  known  to  us  ?  are  these 
things  matters  of  knowledge  ?  I  affirm,  (in  your 
aunt's  behalf,)  they  are.     You  deny  it." 

"  Right,"    said   he.      "  That    is   the    question. 


8  THE     YOUNG    IRISHMAN. 

And  as  you  are  the  plaintiff,  you  must  open  the 
case.  Yours  is  the  affirmative.  Bring  on  your 
witnesses.  I  have  only  to  deny,  and  to  show  that 
your  proofs  are  insufficient." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I.  "  We  are  agreed  so  far. 
I  commence  the  argument. — The  matter  before  us 
regards  knowledge. — I  have,  therefore,  a  prelim- 
inary question  to  settle  first ;  and  I  think  it  may 
be  settled  amicably  betwixt  us,  without  any  de- 
bate. I  now  put  the  question  to  you — What  is 
knowledge  ?" 

"  You  have  taken  me  by  surprise,"  said  he, 
(a  little  confused,  and  hesitating.) 

"  Certainly,"  said  I,  "  the  question  is  a  fair  one  ; 
and  it  belongs  to  you  to  answer  it.  It  is  you  who 
complain  of  your  aunt,  that  she  has  not  knoivledge, 
on  a  particular  subject,  to  which  she  urges  you  to 
attend.  We  are  to  examine  the  question ;  and 
therefore,  we  ought  to  know  what  we  are  talking 
about,  so  as  to  understand  one  another.  You  say, 
you  '  want  knowledge  ;'  and  I  ask,  what  do  you 
mean  by  knowledge  ?  •  I  only  give  you  a  fair  op- 
portunity to  explain  your  own  word." 

M  Why,  sir,"  said  he,  (with  a  forced  smile,)  "  I 
venture  to  say,  that  you  and  I  employ  that  very 
common  word,  in  the  same  sense." 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  I.  "  In  our  profession  we 
do  not  allow  any  assumptions :  we  take  nothing 
upon  trust :  we  never  dogmatize." 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  9 

He  laughed  quite  heartily  at  this  ;  and  replied, 
"  I  believe  I  have  been  away  from  court  too  long. 
My  wit  is  not  keen  enough  for  this  contest  just 
now.     You  have  floored  me  again." 

"Oh,"  said  I,  "your  wit  is  not  at  fault,  but 
your  assumption,  your  taking  things  upon  trust, 
your  dogmatism"    - 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  since  I  own  up  on  this  point, 
you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  answer  the  question 
yourself.  I  will  assent  to  the  answer,  if  I  can 
without  injuring  my  cause." 

"  Most  willingly,"  said  I.  "  But  this  is  a  se- 
rious and  momentous  subject.  It  is  the  most  mo- 
mentous of  anything  on  this  side  of  death.  Let  us 
then  deal  with  it,  in  a  careful  and  candid  manner." 

"  I  will,"  said  he,  "  most  certainly." 

Said  I,  "  Knowledge  is  founded  on  certainty. 
Something  must  be  certain,  or  it  cannot  be 
known.  Knowledge  is  the  cognizance,  which  the 
mind  has  of  realities,  of  facts,  of  some  certainty  or 
truth.  It  exists  in  the  mind.  The  realities  may 
exist  outside  of  the  mind,  or  inside  of  it.  But 
they  exist  first;  and  when  the  mind  makes  an 
ascertainment  of  them,  it  gains  knowledge.  That 
ascertainment  is  made,  by  what  we  call  proofs  or 
evidences.  And  these  evidences  will  vary,  as  the 
subjects  of  knowledge  or  the  certainties  vary. 
There  is  one  sort  of  proofs  for  mathematical 
knowledge,  and  another  sort  for  legal  knowledge, 


10  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

and  another  for  historic  knowledge  ;  but  each  is 
good  in  its  place,  and  sufficient.  You  would  not 
expect  me  to  prove  a  truth  in  morals  or  history, 
by  mathematical  demonstration; — or  a  truth  about 
the  soul,  by  the  evidences  of  eyes  which  cannot 
see  it ; — or  a  truth  about  the  invisible  Grod,  by 
the  authority  of  a  law-book,  such  as  Blackstone,  or 
Starkie,  or  Vattel.  But  whatever  evidences  or 
proofs  do,  fitly,  justly,  convince  a  reasonable  un- 
derstanding ;  furnish  that  understanding  with 
knowledge ;  because  they  enable  it  to  ascertain  a 
reality,  a  certainty,  so  that  the  conviction  of  the 
mind  accords  with  the  fact. — That  is  what  I  call 
knowledge.     Do  you  assent  to  the  explanation  ?" 

He  replied,  "  I  have  no  fault  to  find  with  it. 
And  if  the  whole  of  religion  was  as  clear  and  cer- 
tain as  that,  I  should  not  reject  it." 

"  The  whole  of  it  is  as  clear  and  certain  as 
that,  whatever  you  may  think  about  it." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  how  do  you  apply  your  ex- 
planation to  the  existence  of  Grod  ?  "What  are  the 
evidences  of  his  existence?" 

"  There  are  numerous  evidences,  sir,  and  fit 
ones.  Your  own  existence  is  one  of  them,  and  not 
a  minor  one.  You  are  an  effect.  There  is  a  cause 
somewhere,  adequate  to  the  production  of  such  an 
effect.  That  cause,  whatever  it  be,  is  (rod.  You 
did  not  make  yourself.  Your  parents,  your  an- 
cestors, however  far  back  you  trace  them,  were 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  11 

not  self-created.  Your  own  mind  assigns  a  cause 
somewhere,  an  original  cause,  and  that  cause  is 
God.  And  you  are  just  as  certain,  that  there  is 
such  a  God,  as  you  are,  that  you  are  yourself  an 
effect.  You  know  it  just  as  well ;  not  in  the  same 
way  ;  but  yet,  just  as  certainly.  And  you  know 
you  are  an  effect  of  an  intelligent  cause.  Your 
common  sense  will  not  allow  you  to  believe,  that 
you  and  all  your  ancestors  sprang  from  accident, 
from  chance.  You  do  not  find  chance  operating 
in  such  a  way.  You  do  not  fling  dust  in  the  air, 
and  find  it  come  down,  a  man  or  a  monkey.  If 
you  should  find  anywhere  a  machine,  a  living  or 
dead  one,  which  had  in  it  a  tenth  part  as  many 
manifestations  of  intention,  and  power,  and  skill, 
as  your  own  mortal  body ;  you  could  not  avoid 
believing,  that  some  mind  had  contrived  it,  and 
some  power  beyond  itself  had  brought  it  into  exist- 
ence. You  would  know  it,  as  well  as  you  know 
anything.  The  perfect  proof  is  before  you.  And 
your  own  living  body  and  thinking  mind  are  per- 
fect proofs  of  the  existence,  power  and  wisdom,  of 
God. — There  is  no  assumption  or  dogmatism  in 
this.  It  is  only  cool  and  certain  reasoning,  which 
conducts  to  an  inevitable  conclusion,  and  the  con- 
clusion is  knowledge. 

"  On  the  same  principle,  the  whole  universe  and 
its  living  inhabitants,  rational  and  irrational — its 
suns  and   comets,  its  wThales   and  butterflies,  its 


12  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

motes  and  mountains,  are  proofs  of  the  existence 
and  power  of  Grod.  And  every  change,  every  mo- 
tion in  the  universe  is  an  evidence  which  speaks  for 
him.  Our  reason  tells  us,  they  are  not  uncaused. 
The  cause  is  Grod." 

To  all  this,  the  young  man  listened  with  the 
most  fixed  attention.  He  seemed  to  drink  in 
every  word.  I  thought  his  attention  had  fatigued 
him  ;  but  he  said,  not  at  all,  he  loved  to  think. 
"  But,"  said  he,  "  you  have  led  me  into  a  new 
world  of  thinking.  Your  positions  are  very  bold  ; 
and  before  I  come  to  any  conclusion,  I  must  re- 
view the  matter  in  my  own  mind." 

"  Shall  I  call  on  you  to-morrow  ?"  said  I. 

He  answered,  "  I  can  scarcely  ask  it  or  expect 
it  of  you ;  but  if  it  is  not  too  much  trouble,  I 
should  like  to  see  you  again.  You  need  not  be 
afraid  of  wearying  me.  I  can  study  or  talk  all 
day." 

The  next  day  I  called  again.  He  appeared 
glad  to  see  me,  and  immediately  began  to  speak 
of  our  interview  the  day  before.  Said  he,  "  Your 
bold  position  yesterday  startled  me.  I  have  been 
thinking  of  your  argument  ever  since.  I  cannot 
overthrow  it.  That  idea  about  a  change  or  ft 
motion  being  an  effect,  and  the  human  mind  as- 
signing a  cause  to  it,  and  our  having  knowledge 
on  that  ground,  was  new  to  me.  But  I  find  much 
that  men  call  knowledge  rests  precisely  on  that 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  13 

ground.  And  yet,  I  am  not  fully  satisfied.  I 
have  been  accustomed  to  think,  that  the  existence 
of  God  was  at  least  doubtful,  that  the  proofs  of  it 
were  very  obscure,  and  when  you  brought  up  my 
own  existence  as  a  proof,  it  startled  me.  I  have 
often  said  to  my  aunt,  that  we  know  very  little 
about  spirit, — that  we  can  understand  matter, 
but  spirit  lies  very  much  beyond  our  knowledge  ; 
it  is  all  a  mystery  to  us.  And  now,  though  I 
dare  not  assail  your  position,  or  your  arguments, 
still  it  does  seem  to  me,  that  I  have  a  degree  of 
knowledge  and  certainty  about  bodies,  that  I  can- 
not have  about  spirit ;  and  I  should  like  to  hear 
what  you  can  say  on  that  point." 

"  I  say  that  it  is  a  mere  impression,"  said  I ; 
"  a  common  one  indeed,  but  an  erroneous  one. 
There  may  be  some  faint  apology  for  it.  The 
most,  if  not  all,  of  our  primary  ideas  reach  our 
mind  through  the  inlet  of  the  senses  ;  and  there- 
fore, when  such  an  idea  as  that  of  spirit  is  pre- 
sented to  us, — spirit,  a  thing  which  we  cannot 
see,  cannot  hear,  cannot  touch,  cannot  bring  with- 
in the  immediate  cognizance  of  any  of  our  bodily 
senses  ;  the  idea  appears  to  lie  beyond  the  grasp 
of  the  mind,  hung  round  with  a  deep,  and  misty, 
and  mysterious  obscurity.  If  eyes  could  see  it,  or 
hands  could  handle  it,  men  would  have  none  of 
this  seeming  uncertainty,  and  doubt.  But  since 
they  cannot,  and  since   the  idea  of  spirit  must 


14  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

come  to  them  through  some  other  channel,  for  ex- 
ample, by  comparison,  by  reasoning,  by  tracing 
effect  to  cause,  or  some  such  device ;  the  whole 
doctrine  of  spirit  assumes  to  them  a  kind  of  dim 
and  misty  significance,  too  much  like  an  airy 
fancy,  or  unsubstantial  dream.  That  is  just  the 
state  of  your  mind  at  the  present  moment.  The 
seeming  uncertainty  is  not  a  real  uncertainty,  it 
is  only  an  impression  ;  and  that  is  the  reason  why 
you  dare  not  assail  my  argument  of  yesterday. 
Your  reason  perceives  its  truth,  but  your  impres- 
sion and  your  prejudice  are  against  it. 

"  And  since  I  am  on  this  point  now,  I  will  pur- 
sue it,  if  you  please,  a  little  farther. — From  the 
necessity  of  our  nature,  while  here  in  the  body, 
the  most  of  us  are  more  conversant  with  sensible 
objects,  than  spiritual  ones.  "We  employ,  from 
morning  till  night,  our  sensitive  organism  in  our 
ordinary  occupation.  We  gain  most  of  our  knowl- 
edge itself  in  that  mode ;  and  hence,  when  we 
turn  to  ideas  of  immateriality,  we  come  into  a 
new  field,  where  we  are  almost  strangers,  and 
cannot  therefore  feel,  as  if  we  were  among  the 
familiar  and  well-known  realities  and  certainties 
of  home." 

He  replied  to  this,  "  Do  you  mean  to  affirm, 
then,  that  human  knowledge  in  respect  to  spirit  is 
as  clear  and  certain,  as  in  respect  to  material 
things  ?" 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  15 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  I  mean  to  affirm  just  that ; 
and  I  maintain,  that  the  idea  of  the  imperfection 
of  our  knowledge  about  spirit  is  all  a  mere  im- 
pression and  mere  prejudice.  The  mind  has 
taken  an  untenable  position,  and  has  espoused  a 
falsehood,  when  men  declare,  '  we  know  little 
about  spirit, — we  can  understand  what  matter  is, 
but  spirit  is  beyond  our  comprehension.'  " 

"  Have  you  been  talking  with  my  aunt  ?" 
says  he. 

"  No,  sir  ;  I  have  not  seen  her  ;  though  I 
should  like  to,  very  much." 

"  I  thought  you  had,"  says  he  ;  "for  I  have 
made  that  affirmation,  (which  you  just  condemn- 
ed,) to  her  a  thousand  times  ;  and  I  thought  she 
had  told  you." 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  said  I.  "  My  position  is 
taken,  and  I  cannot  retract.  Unless  you  will  re- 
tract your  affirmation,  I  shall  be  compelled  to 
show  its  falsity." 

"  I  am  not  prepared  to  retract  it  at  all,"  said 
he  ;  "  and  if  you  have  boldness  enough  to  attempt 
to  show  its  falsity,  I  am  sure  you  do  not  lack 
courage  ;  and  if  I  am  not  asking  too  much  of 
you,  I  assure  you  I  should  be  greatly  pleased  to 
hear  what  you  have  to  say." 

"  "Well,  then,"  said  I,  "  we  are  at  issue,  and  I 
have  much  to  say,  perhaps  more  than  you  have 
strength  to  hear." 


16 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 


Said  he,  "I  am  not  wearied  at  all.  You  need 
have  no  fear.  I  told  you  I  love  to  think,  and  you 
delight  me  by  setting  me  to  thinking." 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  I  will  enter  upon  the  matter. 
— And  in  the  outset,  I  admit,  that  our  knowledge 
about  matter  comes  in  such  a  mode,  that  that 
knowledge  has  a  vividness,  and  often  an  impres- 
siveness,  which  belongs  to  no  knowledge  gained 
in  another  way.  We  have  a  sensible  organism, 
which  brings  us  into  contact  with  matter.  Our 
nerves  are  affected  by  it.  And  through  that  ma- 
chinery, sensitive  as  it  is  inexplicable,  we  have 
impressions  as  well  as  knowledge,  and  have  an  in- 
stant certainty,  which  requires  no  slow  and  cool 
processes  of  reflection,  or  examination  of  eviden- 
ces. We  see  the  sun  ;  and  that  is  enough  :  the 
moment  we  have  the  sight,  we  have  the  knowl- 
edge. We  hear  the  thunder ;  and  that  is  enough : 
the  moment  we  hear,  that  moment  we  have  the 
knowledge.     We  need  not  any  other  examination. 

"  Now  this  sensitive  machinery,  and  the  instant 
rapidity  and  suddenness  with  which  it  acts,  give 
to  the  knowledge  which  we  gain  in  this  way,  a 
vividness,  an  impressiveness  and  force.  But  is 
not  that  all  ?  Have  we  any  greater  certainty 
about  things  seen,  and  things  heard,  and  things 
handled,  than  we  have  about  things  reasoned  and 
demonstrated  ?  How  is  this  ?  Can  we  trust  the 
mechanism  of  our  nerves,  any  better  than  we  can 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  17 

trust  the  multiplication  table,  or  the  mathematical 
processes  of  astronomy  and  the  counting-house  ? 
any  easier  than  we  can  trust  the  deep  philosophy 
of  law  ?  Indeed,  is  it  not  more  probable,  that 
some  derangement  should  come  in,  among  the 
mechanism  of  the  senses,  and  make  us  see  wrong, 
or  hear  wrong,  or  taste  wrong,  than  that  the  sure 
processes  of  mathematical  calculation  should  de- 
ceive us  ?  In  our  knowledge  derived  through  the 
senses,  we  can  employ  only  our  own  processes  : 
nobody  else  can  use  our  nerves  of  sight,  or  hear- 
ing, or  taste.  But  in  our  knowledge  derived 
through  mathematics,  and  in  some  other  modes, 
we  employ  the  same  processes  which  others  have 
employed  before  us,  and  are  employing  all  around 
us ;  and  we  can  therefore  fortify  our  own  conclu- 
sions by  theirs,  and  substantiate  our  certainty  in 
knowledge,  (if  need  be,)  by  a  comparison  of  cal- 
culations. Their  processes,  by  which  they  ob- 
tained their  knowledge,  their  certainty,  we  can 
make  our  processes  ;  but  we  cannot  use  another 
man's  eyes  or  ears,  or  the  nervous  mechanism  by 
which  they  act.  All  we  can  do,  is  to  take  the 
testimony  of  the  men  who  do  use  them ;  and 
then,  our  knowledge  rests  only  on  testimony,  not 
on  the  senses.  And  because  we  are  confined  to 
our  own  machinery  of  sense,  and  cannot  employ 
another  man's  machine  ;  we  have  not,  herein,  one 
of   the    advantages    for    certainty,   which    attend 


18  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

knowledge  in  mathematics,  and  all  other  matters 
of  reasoning.  We  can  employ  for  onr  assurance, 
another  man's  reasoning  powers,  but  his  eyes  are 
his  own,  and  we  cannot  use  them.  We  can  add 
the  testimony  of  one  man  to  that  of  another  man, 
and  then  add  another,  and  make  them  all  auxili- 
ary to  our  own,  for  heightening  our  assurance  and 
certainty  in  knowledge ;  but  we  can  do  nothing 
of  this  in  the  knowledge  derived  from  the  senses 
— we  cannot  borrow  another  man's  nerves.  And 
it  follows  from  all  this  surely,  that,  instead  of 
there  being  more  ground  of  certainty  in  knowledge 
derived  directly  through  the  senses,  there  is  less 
certainty  than  in  knowledge  that  comes  in  some 
other  modes," 

"  Why,"  said  he,  interrupting  me,  "  you  do  not 
intend  to  say  that  our  knowledge  is  doubtful, 
when  we  see  and  hear  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  that,"  said  I.  "  But  I  am  com- 
paring different  grounds  of  knowledge.  And  I  ad- 
mit, that  sensible  knowledge  is  the  more  impres- 
sive, by  reason,  first,  of  its  nervous  machinery, 
and  second,  of  its  instant  suddenness.  It  comes 
to  the  mind  at  once.  It  makes  its  impression  at 
a  dash.  We  have  no  time  to  get  cool,  or  keep 
cool,  as  we  have  in  the  slower  business  of  reason- 
ing out  our  knowledge.  But  if  this  superior  im- 
pressiveness  is  not  all — if  it  is  thought,  that  there 
is  really  any  superior  certainty  attending  what  is 


THE     YOUNG     "RISHMAN.  19 

known  by  the  senses,  let  any  man  attempt  to  tell 
what  that  certainty  is,  or  where  it  lies.  He  can- 
not tell.  He  can  tell  nothing  about  it.  Indeed, 
he  can  conceive  nothing  about  it.  The  thing 
defies  conjecture. — I  can  tell,  why  I  believe  my 
eyes,  sooner  than  I  believe  the  testimony  of  an 
unknown  witness  before  me.  I  have  known  men 
testify  falsely,  oftener  than  I  have  known  my  eyes 
testify  falsely  ;  and  therefore,  I  have  the  more  cer- 
tainty about  my  eyes.  And  I  would  not  have  the 
more  certainty,  if  I  could  not  tell  why.  And  if 
my  neighbor  cannot  tell  why  his  knowledge  de- 
rived through  the  senses  has  more  certainty  about 
it,  than  knowledge  coming  in  some  other  way, 
though  he  believes  it  has,  then  I  must  beg  leave 
to  think  him  a  very  imperfect  man  ;  and  though 
I  might  trust  his  eyes,  I  would  not  trust  his 
powers  of  reasoning.  The  truth  is,  it  is  a  mere 
prejudice,  when  men  think,  that  they  can  know 
by  the  senses  any  more  certainly,  than  in  other 
ways.  There  is  a  vividness  and  impressiveness  in 
knowledge  gained  through  the  senses,  and  this 
freshness  and  strength  is  mistaken  for  an  addi- 
tional degree  of  certainty.  The  idea,  then,  so 
common  among  men,  that  the  senses  are  the 
surest  means  of  certainty,  is  all  false.  We  can 
be  equally  certain  on  other  grounds.  It  is  not 
true,  that  while  we  have  clear  knowledge  of  mat- 
ter, we  have  only  doubtful  knowledge  of  spirit, 


20  *  THE     YOUNG    IRISHMAN. 

because  spirit  does  not  come  within  the  cogni- 
zance of  the  senses.  That  notion  has  just  mis- 
taken vividness  of  impression  for  strength  of  proof ; 
and  '  assumes''  what  is  not  true,  that  other  kinds 
of  evidence  are  not  equal  to  the  evidence  of  the 
senses — that  we  cannot  know,  because  we  have 
not  seen." 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  if  my  aunt  were  here  now, 
she  would  rejoice  over  me.  I  have  silenced  her 
many  a  time  by  saying  to  her,  if  I  could  see  God 
I  would  believe  in  him." 

"  You  are  not  alone  in  that,"  I  answered. 
"  Many  have  said  it.  But  if  it  means  anything, 
it  is  only  a  miserable  assumption,  a  pitiful  dog- 
matism. It  assumes,  that  there  is  a  just  suspicion 
resting  upon  all  evidence,  except  that  of  sense. 
It  assumes  too  much.  How  far  does  this  doubt 
about  spirit  intend  to  go  ?  what  is  precisely  its 
ground  ?  If  its  ground  is  at  all  definable  it  is 
this,  namely,  that  a  degree  of  uncertainty  attaches 
to  all  matters  not  evinced  to  us  by  our  own  senses. 
This  is  implied  in  the  very  language  which  men 
employ.  They  say,  '  if  my  eyes  could  see  it,  if 
my  hands  could  handle  it,  I  should  know.  But  I 
cannot  see  or  touch  spirit.'  "Well  now,  if  we  caft 
know  nothing  but  sensible  objects,  our  knowledge 
will  be  extremely  limited.  Does  this  man  know 
that  he  has  got  a  soul  ?  He  never  saw  it — he 
never  handled  it — he    cannot  taste  it.     Does  he 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  21 

know  that  he  has  reason,  or  the  power  of  reason- 
ing, or  any  mind  at  all  ?  He  cannot  see  his  mind, 
or  touch  it.  How,  then,  on  his  own  principles, 
can  he  certainly  know  that  he  has  got  any  ? 
Where  will  his  doubting  end  ?  He  is  bound  to 
doubt  whether  he  has  a  soul, — -whether  he  has  an 
imagination,  a  memory,  a  faculty  of  reason.  In- 
deed, he  is  bound  to  doubt  whether  he  has  the 
power  of  doubting  ;  because,  he  never  saw  it,  or 
touched  it,  tasted  it,  or  heard  it  speak.  So  that 
his  principle  of  doubting  about  spirit,  if  he  will 
only  be  self-consistent,  will  cut  him  off  from  all 
that  he  calls  certain  knowledge,  except  merely  on 
the  field  of  matter,  and  indeed  that  part  of  the 
field,  which  lies  within  the  reach  of  his  fingers, 
his  ears,  or  his  eyes.  On  his  own  principles,  he 
cannot  certainly  know  anything  more. — Just  in 
this  absurdity  lies  every  man  who  exclaims,  '  we 
cannot  know  much  about  spirit, — we  are  certain 
about  matter,  because  our  senses  can  reach  it.'  " 

My  young  friend  appeared  to  be  surprised. 
Said  he,  "  You  seem  to  be  fond  of  turning  the 
tables  upon  me.  You  make  out,  that  the  sin  of 
assumption  is  more  mine,  than  my  aunt's.'' 

"  So  it  is,"  said  I. 

"Well,"  said  he,  (very  thoughtfully  and  gravely,) 
"  I  believe  it  is,  after  all !  I  think  I  shall  have  to 
go  to  her  to  confession." 

"  I  hope  you  will  confess  to  Grod,  also,"  said  I ; 


22  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

"  for  your  sin  of  assumption  was  more  odious  to 
him  than  to  her." 

"  But  I  have  not  done  with  the  charge.  There 
is  another  item  in  this  count.  There  is  another 
false  assumption  in  the  notion  which  I  am  com- 
bating. Your  notion  is,  that  we  can  have  a  cer- 
tainty of  knowledge  about  matter,  such  as  we 
cannot  have  about  spirit ;  because  our  senses  fur- 
nish evidence  of  matter,  but  not  of  spirit.  This 
is  a  mere  assumption,  and  a  falsehood.  Have 
you  no  sensible  evidences  of  spirit  ?  When  you 
move  your  tongue,  and  utter  your  arguments,  are 
not  the  motion  and  the  arguments  any  evidences 
of  an  unseen  mind  ?  They  are  sensible  evidences 
of  something  to  me  ;  for  I  see  the  motion,  and  I 
hear  the  arguments.  And  will  you  tell  me,  that 
the  matter  of  the  tongue,  the  mere  material  of  it, 
moves  of  its  own  accord,  and  weaves  the  argu- 
ments by  its  own  power  ?  If  not,  then  the  mo- 
tion I  see,  and  the  arguments  I  hear,  are  sensible 
evidences  of  the  existence  of  an  unseen  spirit, 
which  prompts  the  motion  and  weaves  the  argu- 
ments. Though  my  senses  do  not  directly  reach 
the  spirit  itself,  yet  they  do  reach  the  effects  of 
that  spirit,  ( — the  motion  of  the  tongue  and  the 
audible  arguments,)  which  come  from  the  unseen 
mind.  And  thus  my  very  senses  do  furnish  me 
with  an  evidence  of  the  existence  of  that  mind, 
as  clear  and  certain  as  if  my  eyes  could  behold  it. 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  23 

They  do  behold  the  effects  of  it — the  traces  of  it — 
the  signals  of  it,  as  clearly  as  they  behold  any- 
thing. The  signals,  the  traces,  the  effects,  cannot 
come  from  any  other  quarter.  They  must  come 
from  mind.  A  reasonable  argument  must  be  a 
production  of  reason.  And  just  as  certainly  as  I 
hear  it  coming  from  human  lips,  just  so  certainly 
I  have  the  evidence  of  two  of  my  senses,  that  a 
mind  exists  somewhere,  a  spirit  which  has  moved 
the  lips,  and  contrived  the  argument. — It  is,  there- 
fore, an  assumption  and  a  falsehood,  when  one 
says  he  has  no  sensible  evidences  of  spirit,  and 
hence  cannot  know  much  about  it." 

The  attention  of  my  Irish  friend  was  intently 
fixed  on  every  word  I  had  uttered.  And  when  I 
paused,  he  remained  silent  for  some  minutes.  At 
length  he  said  to  me  : — 

"  You  have  convinced  me  of  one  thing,  at  least. 
I  perceive  that  I  have  often  taken  false  ground. 
And  yet,  though  I  am  not  prepared  to  controvert 
your  position,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  your  argu- 
ment is  unassailable ;  still,  the  manner  in  which 
you  reason  from  effect  to  cause  may  have  some 
error  in  it.  At  least,  it  is  so  new  to  me,  that  I 
am  at  a  loss,  though  it  all  seems  perfectly  clear. 
Are  we  certain,  after  all,  about  causes  and  ef- 
fects." 

"  Yes  ;  just  as  certain  as  we  are  of  anything. 
There  may  be  unfathomable  mysteries  somewhere 


24 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 


in  the  subject,  just  as  there  are  in  every  other 
subject ;  but  I  have  had  nothing  to  do  with  them. 
I  have  only  employed  the  plain  principle  of  com- 
mon sense, — that  effects,  changes,  motions,  must 
have  some  cause.  Did  youi*  question  mean  to  in- 
quire whether  that  principle  is  certain  ?" 

He  sat  in  silence  for  a  long  time.  I  did  not 
think  it  best  to  interfere  with  his  thoughts.  I 
took  up  one  of  his  books,  and  retired  to  the  win- 
dow, to  await  the  result  of  his  cogitations.  He 
paced  the  floor,  back  and  forth,  for  a  full  half 
hour,  manifestly  in  profound  meditation.  Finally, 
topping  before  me,  he  said  : — 

"  What  is  a  cause  ?" 

"  That  which  produces  the  effect,"  said  I ; — 
"  an  antecedent,  without  which  the  effect  would 
not  exist." 

"  Is  it  certain"  said  he,  "  that  there  is  a  fixed 
connection  betwixt  the  two  ?" 

"  Yes  :  you  are  certain  of  it,  or  you  would  not 
ask  that  question,  or  any  other.  You  speak  to  me 
to  produce  an  effect ;  and  speaking,  you  know, 
you  are  the  designing'  cause.  You  employ  this 
principle  in  every  action  of  your  life.  You  cannot 
act  without  it.  You  never  did,  and  you  never 
will.  You  cannot  utter  a  word,  or  make  a  motion 
on  any  other  principle,  if  you  try." 

He  made  another  long  pause.  And  as  he  walk- 
ed the  room,  I  went  on  reading  my  book.     But 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  25 

finally,  I  laid  aside  the  book,  and  took  my  hat,  to 
depart,  saying  to  him,  that  I  would  not  have  made 
my  visit  so  long,  if  his  residence  had  been  more 
convenient  for  me  to  reach. 

"  I  must  see  you  again,"  said  he.  "  Can  you 
give  your  company  an  hour  or  two  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Not  to-morrow,"  said  I ;  "  but  I  will  see  you 
the  next  day,  if  you  please." 

"  Well,  now  do  not  disappoint  me,"  said  he. 
u  I  am  sorry  to  trouble  you,  and  I  feel  more  grate- 
ful to  you  than  I  can  express  ;  but  I  cannot  rest 
our  subject  here,  and  I  am  afraid  I  could  not 
manage  it  alone.  I  have  been  a  sceptic  on  re- 
ligion for  eight  years  ;  and  if  left  alone,  I  am 
'afraid  my  old  sceptical  notions  would  return  upon 
me." 

As  I  called  upon  him  two  days  after,  he  imme- 
diately told  me,  that  there  were  two  points  which 
he  wanted  cleared  up.  He  had  been  studying  the 
subject  ever  since  I  left  him ;  and  acknowledged, 
that  his  mind  was  convinced,  as  far  as  I  had  gone. 
He  "  believed  all  my  positions  were  impregnable." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  your  affair  of  cause  and  effect 
which  you  brought  to  bear  upon  me,  like  a  bat- 
tery—wherein does  the  efficient  power  of  the 
cause  lie  ?" 

"  In  the  will  that  wields  it,  sir." 

"  What!  in  the  will *» 

"  Yes,  sir,  just  in  the  will." 

3 


26  T  HE     V  O  U  N  G     IRIS  H  M  A  N. 

u  I  am  confounded  !     What  will  come  next  ?" 

"  Your  own  conviction  of  truth,  sir,  will  come 
very  soon ;  and  the  entire  abandonment  of  your 
sceptical  infidelity." 

u  I  believe  it"  said  he,  very  solemnly.  "  But 
you  surprise  me  by  saying,  that  power  lies  in 
will." 

"  Just  in  will,  sir,"  said  I ;  "  nowhere  else.  This 
presides  over  the  whole  field  of  causes  and  effects. 
It  belongs  to  the  very  nature  of  the  human  mind, 
to  attribute  any  change  which  we  behold,  to 
something.  That  something  we  denominate  the 
cause.  It  may  not  be  itself  the  cause,  only  in- 
strumentally,  unless  it  is  the  will ;  and  when 
it  is  not  the  will,  then  we  must  trace  our  way 
back  through  the  instruments,  till  we  reach  the 
real  seat  of  power ;  and  we  shall  always  find  that 
to  be  the  will.  My  motions,  my  speech,  my  walk- 
ing, are  changes,  and  no  sane  man  supposes  them 
to  be  wwcaused.  Everybody  supposes  them,  knows 
them,  to  proceed  from  some  cause  adequate  to  the 
production  of  the  changes.  This  is  common 
sense  ;  and  on  this  principle  every  language  on 
earth  is  formed.  The  principle  is  interwoven  with 
the  structure  of  the  Greek,  the  Latin,  the  French, 
the  Chinese,  with  every  tongue.  No  man's  mind 
rejects  this  principle.  If  anybody  thinks  changes 
to  be  uncaused,  he  is  a  madman  or  a  fool.  Com- 
mon sense  always  knows,  that  changes  are  the 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  27 

effects  of  some  cause,  which  holds  power  over 
them.  That  cause,  in  respect  to  my  motions,  is 
my  spirit.  My  motions  are  an  effect.  My  spirit 
is  the  cause.  The  cause  of  all  the  changes  in  the 
universe  is  Grod.  All  these  changes  are  effects 
coming  from  something,  and  that  something 
(whatever  it  be,)  is  Grod.  He  is  the  great  first 
cause  of  all  things.  But  he  has  delegated  to  me 
a  little  power,  (for  a  time,)  over  a  few  particles  of 
matter,  which  I  call  my  body ;  and  by  the  exer- 
cise of  that  power,  I  can  move.  My  agency  is 
only  a  subordinate  agency,  limited,  and  not  last- 
ing. It  may  last  till  I  die,  but  no  longer  ;  and 
then  I  must  account  for  my  stewardship.  It  ex- 
tends only  to  my  own  flesh.  I  cannot  make  a 
stone  or  a  clod  of  earth  move,  by  my  willing  it,  as 
I  can  move  my  material  frame.  And,  dependent 
creature  that  I  am,  I  cannot  move  my  material 
frame,  except  by  the  mysterious  power  of  my 
spirit,  which  wills  it, — a  power  not  my  own,  in 
the  sense  of  independency,  but  only  in  the  sense 
of  subordination.  But  in  this  subordinate  sense,  1 
am  the  cause  of  my  own  actions,  and  accountable 
for  them, — sometimes  to  men,  and  always  to  God. 
"  Now,  just  on  this  ground  of  common  sense, 
my  motions  are  all  evidences  of  the  existence  of 
my  spirit,  which  has  power  over  them;  and  the 
great  motions  of  the  universe  are  all  evidences  of 
an  unseen  Spirit,   which  has   power   over  them. 


28  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

That  unseen  Spirit  is  Grod.  These  changes  of  the 
universe  are  visible.  Our  senses  take  note  of 
them  ;  and  therefore  our  senses,  though  they  can- 
not directly  reach  the  Divine  Being,  can  reach, 
and  reach  everywhere,  those  changes  which  are 
his  effects,  and  demonstrations  of  his  existence 
and  mighty  power. — This  argument  is  rock. 
There  is  no  getting  away  from  it.  These  changes 
of  the  universe  are  effects,  by  the  common  con- 
sent of  all  mankind.  Being  so,  they  must  have  a 
cause :  they  demonstrate  the  existence  of  a  cause. 
And  whatever  that  cause  be,  it  is  Grod.  Our 
senses  come  in  contact  with  the  effects  ; — and 
now,  who  shall  maintain,  that  we  have  not  as 
good  evidences  about  Grod,  as  if  .our  eyes  could 
behold  him  ?  It  may  be  less  sudden,  less  start- 
ling, and  hence  less  impressive  evidence ;  but  is  it 
not  as  good  ?  May  I  not  be  as  certain  as  if  I  saw 
him  ?  Do  not  I  know,  that  a  cause  of  visible 
changes  is  operating,  just  as  well  as  I  know  the 
effects  which  I  behold.  If  there  is  any  uncer- 
tainty about  my  knowledge  of  (rod  in  this  way 
of  knowing,  let  any  man  attempt  to  tell  where  it 
lies.  He  cannot  tell. — The  changes  ?  my  eyes 
see  them.  .  I  therefore  know  them  by  evidences 
of  sense.  They  are  effects.  I  know  this  by  my 
common  sense,  and  the  common  sense  of  every 
man  around  me.  And  the  cause  of  these  effects, 
you  must  either   allow  to  be  the  Deity,  or   you 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  29 

must  maintain,  that  dumb  matter,  mere  dirt  and 
rock,  has  reason,  and  will,  and  power  of  motion, 
of  its  own. — And  coming  in  contact  with  these 
effects  constantly,  as  I  do,  I  certainly  am  unable 
to  perceive,  why  I  do  not  positively  know  there  is 
a  Grod,  as  well  as  I  know  there  is  a  sun  that 
moves,  or  a  drop  of  rain  that  falls.  My  knowl- 
edge may  not  be  impressive  and  startling  ;  but  is 
it  not  real — certain — founded  on  good  and  legiti- 
mate evidences  ? 

And  now,  what  is  power?  or,  where  does  it 
lie  ?  or,  what  wields  it  ?  Where  is  its  seat  ?  its 
home  ?  Where  does  power  originate  ?  There  is 
something  which  men  call  power — something 
which  is  capable  of  effecting  some  change  ;  and 
the  question  you  put  to  me  is,  what  is  it  ?  or, 
where  is  the  seat  of  it?  And  the  answer  is, 
power  lies  in  the  spirit — not  in  matter,  but  in 
spirit.  The  power  by  which  all  changes  in  mat- 
ter are  effected,  resides  immediately  in  spirit,  in 
mind.  The  power  by  which  I  move  a  muscle 
does  not  belong  to  the  muscle  itself.  The  muscle 
is  only  an  instrument  which  obeys  that  act  of  my 
spirit,  which  I  call  my  will.  My  will  is  that 
mysterious  thing  with  which  my  Maker  has  in- 
vested me,  and  by  which  I  can  move.  The  will 
is  the  power.  We  cannot  move  a  single  atom  of 
matter  in  the  universe  without  it.  It  has  a  direct 
power  over  our  bodies  in  health,  and  till  we  die ; 
3* 


30  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

and  an  indirect  power  over  a  little  other  matter. 
Acting  indirectly,  onr  will  can  bring  our  bodies, 
or  some  portion  of  our  material  frame,  into  con- 
tact with  other  matter  ;  and  thus  we  can  effect 
some  changes  in  that  other.  The  stones  we  lift, 
the  mountains  we  level,  the  ships  we  build,  are 
all  lifted,  and  leveled,  and  built,  by  the  power  of 
our  will.  Power  resides  nowhere  but  in  spirit. 
You  speak  of  the  mechanical  powers,  and  I  am 
not  going  to  find  fault  with  your  language.  But 
let  not  the  imperfection  of  language  mislead  your 
understanding, — as  it  certainly  does,  if  you  sup- 
pose these  mechanical  powers  have  an  item  of 
power  of  their  own.  They  have  none.  The 
power  exists  only  in  your  will.  You  use  them. 
You  bring  your  hands,  or  feet,  or  some  other  por- 
tion of  your  body  into  contact  with  some  other 
matter,  the  lever,  the  screw,  the  pulley  ;  and  thus 
you  willingly  employ  these  contrivances  to  do 
what  you  could  not  do  without  them.  But  the 
lever,  the  screw,  the  wedge,  the  pulley,  have  not 
an  item  of  power  in  themselves.  Nobody  ever 
saw  them  doing  anything  alone.  It  is  will,  it  is 
spirit,  which  employs  them.  The  will  first  formed 
the  contrivances  themselves  ;  and  could  not  form 
them  so  as  to  invest  them  with  power  to  work 
alone.  And  the  will,  in  every  instance  of  their 
operation  since  they  are  formed,  must  come  along 
with  its  continued  power,  or  they  will  do  noth- 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  31 

ing, — can  do  nothing.  They  have  no  power,  be- 
cause they  have  no  will. — You  have,  then,  this 
great,  universal  lesson,  Power  resides  only  in 
mind :  all  power  exists  in  spirit,  and  in  spirit 
only. 

Gfod's  will  is  his  power.  He  employs  his 
power  directly  or  indirectly,  as  he  pleases.  He 
can  use  instruments,  or  do  without  them.  He 
has  no  need  of  them,  as  you  have.  The  direct 
power  of  your  own  spirit  is  limited — it  is  limited, 
as  I  said,  to  the  few  particles  of  matter  which 
make  up  your  mortal  body  ;  and  if  you  would 
move  or  change  anything  beyond  that,  you  must 
contrive  some  mode  to  bring  your  material  body 
into  contact  or  some  connection  with  it.  But 
God,  the  unseen,  eternal  Spirit,  is  able  to  bring 
the  power  of  his  will  to  bear  directly  upon  all 
things, — as  directly  as  the  power  of  your  will 
bears  upon  the  body  it  moves.  He  has  only  to 
will  it,  and  any  conceivable  change  will  instantly 
take  place.  The  power  all  lies  in  the  Infinite 
Spirit.  Grod  is  Spirit.  His  will  is  the  effect. 
Nothing  intervenes  between  his  volition  and  the 
change  which  follows  it,  to  give  any  power  to  the 
volition  itself.  The  mere  volition  is  all  his  power. 
— Awful  Grod  !  Tremendous  Deity  !  On  his 
simple  volition  hangs  this  mighty  universe  of  be- 
ing !  Earth,  heaven,  hell  depend  upon  it !  If  he 
should  will  it,  there  would  not  be  an   angel  in 


32  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

heaven,  or  a  devil  in  hell !  existence  would  cease ! 
this  universe  would  become  a  blank  !  and  nothing 
would  be,  except  '  that  high  and  lofty  One,  who 
inhabiteth  eternity !' — Oh  !  who  would  not  have 
this  God  for  his  friend  ?  Oh  !  who  could  endure 
to  have  him  his  enemy  ? — Enemy  ?  sooner,  come 
annihilation  !  Let  me  perish — let  my  spirit  die — 
let  all  these  thinking  faculties,  my  soul,  go  out  in 
eternal  night,  sooner  than  have  this  awful  Grod 
against  me  ! — It  need  not  be.  That  G-od  who 
'  spake  and  it  was  done,'  who  '  commanded  and  it 
stood  fast,'  who  said,  '  let  there  be  light  and  there 
was  light,' — this  God  is  love.  I  hear  a  voice 
coming  from  resurrection  lips,  '  all  power  in 
heaven  and  earth  is  given  unto  me  ;  go  ye  into  all 
the  world  and  preach  the  gospel  to  every  crea- 
ture, and,  lo,  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the 
end  of  the  world.  He  that  believeth  shall  be  saved 
— though  he  were  dead,  yet  he  shall  live  again.' 
Blessed  words  !  blessed  Saviour  !  Open  your 
heart,  sir,  to  this  message.  Take  this  offer.  Poor 
sinner  as  you  are — weak  mortal — being  of  a  day, 
and  soon  to  lie  in  the  dust ;  cast  your  immortal 
soul  upon  the  power  of  this  Christ,  to  save  you 
from  eternal  death,  and  give  you  life  evermore  !" 

As  I  uttered  this  exhortation  with  all  the  force 
I  could  give  to  it,  my  young  friend  sunk  back 
upon  his  chair,  with  his  eyes  fixed  immovably 
tmon  me ;  and  held  his  breath,  in  a  sort  of  agony 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  33 

of  attention.  He  turned  more  pale  than  I  had 
ever  seen  him.  And  when  I  stopped,  he  drew  a 
long  breath,  his  eyelids  dropped  over  his  eyeballs, 
and  he  looked  like  a  corpse. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  I.  "  I  have  talked 
too  long.     I  have  wearied  your  strength." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  he  ;  "  but  you  have  conquer- 
ed me.  I  see  I  have  been  wrong. — But  I  must 
think  of  this  more." 

I  replied,  "  I  hope  you  will.  And  I  will  see 
you  again  in  a  few  days." 

As  he  had  not  fixed  any  time  for  another  visit, 
and  as  I  wished  to  leave  him  some  time  for  re- 
flection, I  did  not  call  on  him  again  for  two  days. 
As  I  then  entered  his  room,  he  said  to  me  : — 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  And  I  am  glad  you 
have  come  so  early  in  the  morning.  You  will  be 
able  to  make  me  a  long  visit,  I  hope.  I  should 
have  sent  for  you,  but  I  know  I  am  taking  up  too 
much  of  your  time." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  not  at  all,"  said  I.  "  But  have  you 
not  gained  the  victory  over  your  doubts  ?" 

II  Partly.  I  will  tell  you  how  it  is  with  me. 
You  recollect  I  told  you  about  my  difficulty.  I 
thought,  that  nothing  about  spirit  was  really  cer- 
tain, as  we  are  certain  about  material  things 
And  still,  some  of  the  same  difficulty  occurs  to 
me,  and  often  tempts  me  and  troubles  me  ; 
though  I  believe  all  you  have  said  about  God's 


34  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

existence  and  will,  and  about  cause  and  effect. 
"When  I  attempt  to  pray,  the  idea  will  come  up  to 
me,  that  I  have  not  such  a  certain  knowledge 
about  Grod,  and  about  my  own  spirit,  as  I  have 
about  objects  of  sense.  My  knowledge  about 
spirit  seems  to  me  to  be  inferior.  Can  you  relieve 
me  from  this  trouble  ?" 

"  Probably  not,"  said  I.  "  This  matter  is  not  a 
truth,  but  what  you  have  just  called  it,  a  tempta- 
tion. And  I  cannot  chain  the  devil,  or  check  the 
evil  suggestions  of  your  own  heart.  What  I  have 
already  said  to  you,  I  did  suppose  to  be  sufficient 
on  that  point,  so  far  as  the  mind  is  concerned.  If 
you  are  tempted,  your  hope  lies  in  prayer." 

"  But  yet,"  said  he,  "  I  do  think,  that  material 
objects  assail  the  mind,  as  mental  or  spiritual 
ideas  do  not ;  and  I  think  that  we  have  a  more 
extensive  knowledge  of  matter,  than  we  can  have 
of  spirit.  And  hence,  I  feel  that  I  am  not  on  as 
sure  ground  in  the  abstract  and  spiritual  matters 
of  religion,  as  I  wish  to  be." 

"  We  are  at  issue  again,"  said  I,  "  if  that  is 
the  case." 

He  replied,  "  I  know  that  very  well.  And  I 
half  know  that  I  am  wrong.  But  I  cannot  get 
my  mind  clear,  on  these  points." 

"  I  think  you  can,"  said  I.  "  And  at  the  risk 
of  some  little  repetition,  (which  indeed  seems  to 
be  needful  to  you,)  I  join  issue  with  you  again. 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  35 

You  speak  of  knowledge.  And  you  want  to 
be  as  sure  in  religious  knowledge,  as  you  feel  that 
you  are  in  other  matters  ;  and  you  want  your 
knowledge  to  be  as  extensive.  You  affirm,  that 
that  there  is,  after  all,  a  deficiency  on  these 
points.     I  affirm  there  is  not." 

"  Exactly  that,"  he  replied. 

¥  Then,"  said  I,  "  let  us  attempt  to  examine 
these  questions. 

What  is  it  to  know  ?  Where  does  knowledge 
lie  ?  What  is  that  kind  of  operation,  exercise,  or 
experience,  which  men  call  knowledge  ?  We 
want  no  school  metaphysics  on  this  point.  Meta- 
physical fog  is  not  equal  to  the  noon-day  clearness 
of  common  sense. 

Knowledge  is  the  ascertainment  which  the 
mind  has  of  some  certainty  or  reality.  It  does 
not  make  the  certainty.  That  exists  before.  It  is 
only  a  recognition  of  it.  That  recognition,  or  sure 
perception  of  mind,  (call  it  what  you  will,)  is 
knowledge. — Knowledge,  then,  exists  in  the  mind : 
not  in  matter,  but  in  mind :  not  in  the  matter  of 
your  bones,  or  blood,  or  muscles,  of  your  eyes  that 
see,  or  your  ears  that  hear.  Knowledge  exists 
only  in  mind.  The  mind  has  a  sure  perception 
of  some  reality,  and  that  is  knowledge." 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  emphatically. 

"  This  perception,"  I  continued,  "  comes  indeed 
in  different  ways.     I  perceive  some  truths  by  my 


36  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

eyes  ;  as  when  I  behold  the  sun,  or  admire  a  rose- 
bud. I  perceive  other  truths  by  my  ears ;  as 
when  I  leap  at  the  sound  of  music,  or  tremble  at 
the  thunder.  I  perceive  other  truths  by  my 
reason  ;  as  wh  3n  I  know  that  the  half  of  any  sub- 
stance is  not  as  much  as  the  whole,  or  that  two 
men  are  stronger  than  one,  if  all  three  are  equals. 
But  in  all  cases,  the  perception  is  in  the  mind  : 
the  ascertainment  of  the  certainty,  the  knowledge, 
exists  in  the  mind,  and  nowhere  else." 

"  Yes"  said  he. 

"  Now,  therefore,  if  any  man  knows  he  has 
knowledge,  he  knows  he  has  mind.  And  he 
knows  another  thing  about  it, — he  knows  it  is  a 
knowing-  mind,  a  spirit  capable  of  knowing,  of 
perceiving  truth.  And  what,  then,  does  the  man 
mean,  when  he  pretends  he  knows  little  about 
mind  ?  about  spirit  ?  He  cannot  know  anything 
about  matter,  without  knowing  something  about 
spirit.  It  is  his  spirit  only  that  knows.  He  does 
not  know  with  his  hands,  or  his  feet,  or  his  eyes. 
He  knows  only  with  his  mind.  And  if  he  knows 
that  rock  is  hard,  or  night  dark,  or  water  fluid,  he 
equally  knows,  that  he  himself  possesses  a  per- 
ceiving, knowing  mind — a  reasonable  spirit  within 
him;  capable  of  being  affected  by  a  reality." 

"  Yes"  said  he,  (as  if  he  would  fix  it  in  mind.) 

"  But  he  is  certain  of  these  things.  He  says 
he  is.     He  feels  the  hard  rock — he  sees  water  run 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  37 

— his  eyes  tell  him  it  is  dark  in  the  night.  But 
where  lies  his  certainty  ?  Why,  he  is  just  certain 
of  his  own  mind, — that  is  all.  He  is  just  certain, 
that  he  has  got  a  mind  to  be  certain — that  he  has 
a  perceiving  spirit  within  him,  capable  of  know- 
ing things  without  him  ;  knowing,  that  rock  is 
hard,  and  water  fluid,  and  night  dark.  He  is 
therefore  reduced  just  to  this, — he  cannot  be  cer- 
tain of  anything  at  all,  without  being  certain 
of  mind — certain  that  he  possesses  a  spirit  capa- 
ble of  perceiving  and  knowing." 

"  That  is  true"  said  he,  most  emphatically. 

"  Does  he  not,  then,  learn  to  know  spirit  as  fast 
as  he  learns  to  know  matter  ?  Can  he  stretch  out 
his  fingers  anywhere  upon  a  tangible  universe, 
and  take  a  lesson  upon  it ;  and  not  therewith, 
take  a  lesson  upon  the  spirit,  which  alone  per- 
ceives its  tangibility  ?  Can  he  open  his  eyes, 
amid  the  flowers  of  his  beautiful  garden,  and  ad- 
mire the  sweet  pencillings  which  delight  him,  and 
not,  at  the  same  moment,  just  as  well  know,  that 
he  himself  has  a  spirit  capable  of  admiration  and 
delight,  as  he  knows  the  hues  of  beauty  which 
are  blending  into  one  another  ?  Can  he  listen  to 
the  wild-bird's  song,  and  the  forest-echo  which  re- 
peats it,  and  not  just  as  well  know,  that  he  him- 
self has  a  spirit  within  him  susceptible  of  the 
sweets  of  music  and  the  soothing  of  its  melting 
echoes,  as   he  knows,  that   his   feathered   friend 

4 


38 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 


upon  the  wing  has  a  mellow  throat  and  an  exult- 
ant song  ?  This  man,  this  very  man,  who  de- 
plores his  uncertainty  about  spirit,  cannot  himself 
take  a  single  step  in  the  knowledge  of  matter, 
without,  at  the  same  moment,  taking  a  step  in  the 
knowledge  of  spirit.  Every  new  lesson  he  learns 
about  material  things  which  affect  his  senses,  is  a 
new  lesson  about  the  immaterial  spirit  which 
learns  it.  He  cannot  know  a  single  quality  in 
matter,  without  knowing  a  quality  in  spirit ;  for 
mind  only  has  knowledge.  He  knows  with  his 
spirit.  And  if  he  is  sure  of  anything,  he  must  be 
sure  of  the  spirit  which  has  the  surety." 

"  Y<?5,"  said  he.  "  I  now  admit  all  that.  I 
confess  that  I  cannot  have  any  certainty  about 
matter,  unattended  by  an  equal  certainty  about 
mind.  But  here  is  my  trouble  : — the  surety  in 
reference  to  matter  comes  into  the  mind  through 
the  channel  of  the  senses.  The  organic  structure 
is  affected — the  nerves  of  seeing,  hearing,  feeling, 
tasting,  or  smelling.  And  therefore,  is  not  the 
knowledge  about  spirit  inferior  to  this  ;  because  it 
is  a  kind  of  knowledge,  that  does  not  affect  this 
organic  structure  ?" 

"  How  can  it  be  inferior  VI  said  I.  "  Knowl- 
edge exists  in  mind.  Is  it  any  matter  how  it  got 
there  ?  If  it  is  there,  and  is  knowledge,  what 
matter  is  it,  whether  it  got  in  by  one  channel  or 
another  ?     If  our  houses  are  light,  is  not  the  light 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  39 

which  comes  through  the  open  doors  as  trust- 
worthy a  reality,  as  that  which  is  transmitted 
through  the  glass  oi  the  windows  ?  Knowledge 
is  knowledge,  no  matter  how  it  comes.  Certainty 
is  certainty.  If  it  comes  through  our  sensitive 
organism,  it  is  knowledge.  If  it  comes  by  con- 
sciousness or  reason,  it  is  knowledge.  And  the 
idea,  that  all  knowledge  which  comes  through  our 
sensitive  organism  is  genuine  and  sure,  while  all 
other  must  lie  under  a  suspicion  of  being  counter- 
feit or  unsafe  ;  is  an  idea  which  would  overthrow 
more  than  half  the  science,  and  more  than  half 
the  jurisprudence  of  all  mankind.  Nobody  acts 
upon  it.  Nobody  ever  did,  or  ever  will,  except 
simply  in  the  matter  of  religion,  when  depraved 
men  wish  to  cast  off  its  obligations.  There  is  not 
a  human  being  to  be  found,  who  ever  resorts  to  this 
idea  of  the  inferiority  of  all  but  sensible  knowl- 
edge, except  when  error  suits  his  heart  better  than 
truth — when  he  is  blinded  by  the  love  of  sin — 
when  he  dislikes  the  duties  of  the  gospel,  such  as 
prayer,  and  preparation  for  a  future  life. 

But  more.  You  spake  of  the  organic  structure, 
and  the  nerves,  and  the  channel  of  the  senses,  as 
if  one  could  be  more  sure  when  his  material  body 
is  affected,  and  he  learns  anything  in  that  way." 

Said  he,  "  That  is  the  very  point.  Speak  to 
that." 

"  Ther   think  a  little  farther,"  said  I.     "  Two 


40  THE     YOUNG    IRISHMAN. 

of  our  most  important  senses  seem  very  much 
like  ar.  exception,  usually.  In  our  seeing  and  in 
our  hearing,  the  organ  that  sees  and  the  organ 
that  hears  are  seldom  touched  so  rudely,  as  to 
make  us  sensible  at  all,  that  anything  has  touch- 
ed it.  And  yet,  this  seeing  and  this  hearing,  the 
very  senses  which  come  nearest  to  spirituality, 
the  very  senses  whose  organism  is  seldom  sensible 
to  matter  at  all ; — these  are  the  very  senses  in 
which  every  man  has  most  confidence,  and  most 
employs.  Every  man  seems  himself  to  be  assur- 
ed most,  when  in  his  bodily  organs  sensibility  of 
impression  is  least. 

But  beyond  this,  and  beyond  the  fact,  that  it 
is  the  mind  which  sees  and  feels,  and  not  the 
mere  organs,  (which  can  do  nothing  alone,)  it  is 
not  true,  that  matter  alone  can  affect  our  material 
organism,  and  thus  give  us  more  surety  about  it- 
self. Thought,  pure  thought,  affects  it  also.  You 
may  find  a  merchant,  whose  mere  contemplation 
of  his  embarrassed  affairs  makes  him  tremble 
like  an  aspen  leaf.  His  mind  affects  his  material 
body,  and  his  mind  alone.  He  is  not  in  jail. 
The  sheriff  has  not  seized  him.  He  is  not  turned 
out  of  his  house.  His  eyes  have  not  seen  his 
ships  sink,  or  his  goods  burn.  But  he  trembles, 
and  turns  pale,  and  loses  his  appetite,  and  grows 
lean  ;  and  all  this,  from  the  mere  knowledge  he 
has,  that  he  is  an  irretrievable  bankrupt. — And 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  41 

what  will  you  say  to  him  ?  Will  you  bring  him 
your  sweet  doctrine  of  uncertainties  to  comfort 
him  ?  and  cheeringly  assure  him,  that  he  may  be 
altogether  mistaken,  that  he  cannot  be  quite  sure, 
because  he  has  not  seen  his  gold  sink,  or  his  goods 
burn,  or  his  debtors  run  away  ? — You  may  find  a 
culprit,  whose  crimes  are  known  only  to  himself, 
— you  lawyers  know  nothing  about  them, — and 
yet,  under  a  sense  of  his  guilt  he  is  shaken,  as  a 
reed  in  the  wind.  His  knowledge  affects  his 
nerves.  'A  dreadful  sound  is  in  his  ears.'  He 
turns  pale,  and  trembles.  ;  The  sound  of  the 
shaken  leaf  shall  chase  him.' — And  what  will 
you  say  of  such  examples  ?  This  knowledge — a 
knowledge  apart  from  the  senses — a  knowledge 
existing  only  in  mind,  by  reflection  and  conscious- 
ness, as  really  and  powerfully  affects  the  material 
body  itself,  as  any  sensible  knowledge  can  do. 
Yea,  more  so.  '  The  spirit  of  a  man  sustaineth 
his  infirmity ;  but  a  wounded  spirit,  who  can 
bear  ?'  And  what  will  you  say  now,  about  the 
uncertainty  of  knowledge  which  does  not  come  by 
what  you  called  '  the  channel  of  the  senses,'  when 
these  men  find  their  nerves  shattered,  their  mus- 
cles trembling,  the  circulation  of  their  blood  de- 
ranged, and  their  whole  material  frame  under  the 
dreadful  sway  of  a  thought  within  them — just  a 
thought  ?  If  you  cannot  believe  in  the  reality 
and  sureness  of  knowledge,  which  does  not  come 


42  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

by  matter ;  you  must  at  least  believe  in  the 
reality  of  a  knowledge,  which  makes  the  whole 
matter  of  a  man's  frame  tremble,  as  if  it  would 
shake  to  pieces.  Look  at  him,  and  answer  ; — 
have  you  certainty  only  about  matter  ?  have  you 
not  equal  certainty  about  mind  ?  Do  you  not 
know,  that  it  possesses  a  dreadful  power  ?  that  it 
has  capabilities  of  thought,  of  apprehension,  of 
agony  and  torture  inconceivable  ?  Do  you  not 
know,  that  these  are  the  realities,  the  certainties, 
compared  with  which,  all  the  certainties  about 
matter  are  a  mere  dream  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  (springing  upon  his  feet,  like 
a  well  man,)  "  I  do  know  it.  I  shall  never  call 
that  in  question  again." 

With  a  contemplative  air,  he  walked  a  few 
times  across  the  floor,  and  then  turning  suddenly 
to  me,  exclaimed  very  earnestly  : — 

"  But  the  extent  of  knowledge,  sir,  the  extent 
of  knowledge  !  Our  knowledge  of  spirit  is  limit- 
ed! We  know  many  things  about  matter,  and 
only  a  few  about  spirit !  The  essence  of  spirit  is 
unknown  to  us  !  We  cannot  tell  what  spirit  is, 
sir  !" 

"  I  venture  to  affirm  you  can  tell  what  spirit  is, 
just  as  well  as  you  can  tell  what  matter  is.  You 
know  just  as  much  about  the  essence  of  the  one, 
as  you  do  about  the  essence  of  the  other. — Be  so 
good  as  to  make  a  little  comparison.     Take  any 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  43 

example  you  will.  Here  is  a  rook.  It  is  matter, 
not  spirit.  Well,  what  do  you  know  about  it  ? 
You  know  it  is  hard  and  heavy,  and  has  figure  or 
shape,  and  has  some  kind  of  color,  and  it  may  be, 
some  sort  of  odor.  But  what  of  all  that?  "We 
are  asking  about  the  essence  of  matter,  and  take 
the  rock  for  an  example.  What  is  the  essence  of 
it  ?  It  has  weight.  Is  its  weight  the  essence  ? 
It  has  shape.  Is  its  shape  the  essence  ?  It  has 
color.  Is  its  color  the  essence  ?  It  has  hardness, 
is  its  hardness  the  essence  of  matter  ?  Every- 
body says,  no,  no  !  Then,  what  is  its  essence  ? 
what  is  that  something,  that  substratum,  that 
real  existence,  in  which  all  these  qualities  of  color, 
and  figure,  and  weight,  and  solidity  exist  ? — No 
man  can  tell ! 

Turn  then  to  a  spirit.  Here,  for  example,  is 
your  own  soul — the  thing  which  now  attends  to 
my  ideas.  What  is  the  essence  of  it  ?  It  is 
spirit — no  matter  at  all,  about  it.  Well,  what  do 
you  know  of  it  ?  You  know,  it  perceives,  it 
thinks,  it  remembers,  it  reasons,  it  imagines,  it 
fears,  it  hopes,  it  resents,  it  has  joy  sometimes, 
and  sometimes  sorrow.  But  is  joy  its  essence  ?  or 
sorrow  ?  or  hope  ?  or  memory  ?  or  hate  ?  or  love  ? 
or  judgment  ?  or  thinking  ?  Everybody  says,  no, 
no !  Then,  what  is  its  essence  ?  what  is  that 
something,  that  substratum,  that  real  existence, 


44  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

in  which  all  these  qualities  of  thought  and  feeling 
exist  ? — No  man  can  tell  ! 

Sum  up  the  whole  rock,  then,  and  the  whole 
soul,  and  just  confess,  sir,  that  you  know  as  much 
about  the  essence  of  the  one,  as  you  do  about  the 
essence  of  the  other.  Your  knowledge  about  the 
essence  of  matter  is  just  equal  to  your  knowledge 
about  the  essence  of  mind. — What  do  you  mean, 
then,  when  you  say  you  know  something  surely 
about  matter,  but  you  know  little  about  spirit? 
You  know,  indeed,  some  qualities  of  both ;  and 
beyond  that  your  knowledge  does  not  extend." 

My  young  friend  had  become  by  this  time  ex- 
ceedingly excited.  His  excitement,  which  seem- 
ed to  have  been  growing  upon  him  for  half  an 
hour,  had  risen,  as  it  seemed,  to  the  highest  pitch. 
His  cheek  was  flushed,  his  eye  sparkled,  his 
frame  rose  erect,  and  he  paced  the  room,  more 
with  the  firm  tread  of  a  soldier,  than  the  feeble 
step  of  a  sick  man.  Fearing  his  excitement  might 
do  him  an  injury,  I  proposed  to  leave  him,  and 
allow  him  to  rest. 

"  No,  sir!"  said  he,  (with  an  accent  as  if  he 
was  angry,)  u  no,  sir;  you  are  not  to  leave  me 
yet !  You  have  asked  me  to  confess  !  And  I  do 
confess !  I  yield  this  point !  Your  argument  is 
unanswerable  !  But,  sir,  the  victory  has  been  all 
on  one  side,  ever  since  we  commenced  these  con- 
versations ;  and  I  am  chagrined,  I  am  deeply  mor- 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  45 

tified  at  my  defeat !  My  blood  boils  in  my  veins, 
and  all  the  life  there  is  left  in  me  is  aroused, 
when  I  perceive  you  are  pushing  me  farther  and 
farther  in  the  position  of.  a  sinner  against  Grod, 
with  all  my  eternity  to  cry  out  against  me !  Do 
not  mistake  me,  sir.  My  excitement  is  not  against 
you  ;  it  is  against  myself !  And  I  have  an  inch 
or  two  of  ground  left  yet.  I  say,  that  you  have 
not  answered  all  my  objections.  I  affirmed,  that 
we  have  a  more  sure  knowledge  of  material 
things,  than  we  have  of  our  spirits  or  any  spirit ; 
because  we  have  a  more  extensive  knowledge. 
Our  knowledge  of  spirit  is  limited. — What  do  you 
say  to  that  ?" 

"  I  say,  that  our  knowledge  of  matter  is  limited 
also,  and  the  more  limited  of  the  two.  I  say,  that 
we  have  more  extensive  knowledge  of  spirit,  than 
we  have  of  matter." 

"Is  it  possible  !"  said  he.  "  Gro  on  then.  Show 
it  to  be  so.     I  will  sit  down  and  listen." 

"  Another  time  perhaps  you — " 

"  Do  not  mention  another  time,"  said  he,  in- 
terrupting me.  "  I  may  be  a  dead  man,  before  I 
see  you  again !  Tell  me  now  !  Take  away,  if 
you  can,  the  last  inch  of  ground  I  have  left ;  and 
show  me  to  be  without  excuse  in  the  sight  of  that 
Grod,  in  whom  you  have  compelled  me  to  believe, 
and  before  whom  I  must  soon  stand !  I  am  a 
dying  man.     I  have  no  time  to  lose." 


46  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

"  Since  you  desire  it,"  said  I,  "  let  me  prove  to 
you,  that  we  know  more  things  about  spirit,  than 
we  do  about  matter.  We  know  a  few  qualities  in 
each.  Compare  them  with  one  another.  Make 
two  chapters ; — one  for  the  known  properties  of 
matter,  the  other  for  the  known  properties  of 
spirit ;  and  then,  compare  the  chapters,  and  see, 
of  which  your  knowledge  is  the  most  extensive, 
matter  or  spirit : — 

"  First  chapter:  On  Matter.  You  know  it  has 
the  following  qualities,  to  wit ; — weight,  color, 
(sometimes,)  figure,  inactivity,  hardness,  smell, 
(sometimes,)  and  it  is  movable.  This  is  about 
all  you  know.  All  else  you  can  say  of  it,  is  in- 
cluded in  these  properties,  or  results  from  them. 

"  Second  chapter  :  On  Spirit.  You  know  it  has 
the  following  properties,  to  wit; — it  perceives,  it 
compares,  it  judges,  it  reasons,  it  remembers,  it 
wills,  it  fancies,  it  has  conscience,  it  has  imagina- 
tion, it  has  consciousness  or  perception  of  its  own 
acts,  it  is  capable  of  pain  and  pleasure.  That  is 
enough.  You  need  go  no  farther.  Cut  the  chap- 
ter short.  You  have  more  knowledge  about  spirit, 
than  you  have  about  matter — more  extensive 
knowledge.  You  can  tell  of  more  properties  of 
spirit,  than  of  matter.  Your  spirit  chapter  is 
longer  than  your  matter  chapter.  In  one  word, 
you  do  positively  know  a  great  deal  more  about 
spirit,  than  you  do  about  matter.     Your  knowl- 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  47 

edge  of  matter  is  confined  to  just  a  few  qualities ; 
but  your  knowledge  of  spirit  is  far  more  extensive, 
embracing  all  kinds  of  operation,  all  kinds  of 
thought,  all  kinds  of  emotions  and  passions." 

"  All  true  /"  said  he.  "  I  confess  it.  But  spirit 
may  have  other  faculties  or  properties  which  we 
know  nothing  about." 

"  So  may  matter,"  said  I.  "  So  may  matter. 
But  that  is  an  idea  addressed  to  our  ignorance. 
We  are  talking  about  knowledge.  What  we  do 
not  know,  about  spirit  or  about  matter,  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  our  subject,  or  with  our  duty.  We 
want  knowledge  to  act  upon  and  to  die  upon.  A 
mere  perhaps,  about  something  else,  does  not 
weigh  a  feather  against  known  truth.  A  perhaps 
is  bad  foothold  for  a  dying  man.  You  would  be 
ashamed  of  this  kind  of  suggestion  in  court.  Mat- 
ter and  spirit  both  may  have  a  thousand  qualities, 
which  we  know  nothing  about.  But  we  act  like 
fools,  if  we  will  not  breathe  the  air,  because  it 
may  have  some  unknown  properties  ; — and  we  act 
just  as  much  like  fools,  if  we  will  not  repent  and 
believe  in  Christ,  because  our  immortal  soul  may 
have  some  unknown  properties.  Religion  asks  us 
to  act  upon  knowledge,  upon  certainty.  Infidelity 
must  always  act  upon  ignorance,  if  it  acts  at  all. 
And  for  that  reason,  I  affirmed  to  you,  the  first 
time  I  saw  you,  that  infidels  are  the  most  credu- 
lous, assuming  and  dogmatic  men  in  the  world." 


48  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  he,  (rising  suddenly  from 
his  seat,)  "  that  is  all  true. — I  have  done.  I  have 
no  more  to  say.  I  have  been  a  fool,  and  have 
groped  in  the  dark  all  my  days  !  I  have  spent  my 
life  in  conjecturing  what  might  be,  and  neglecting 
what  is,  and  what  I  now  know  is." 

Being  quite  certain  that  he  was  exhausting  his 
strength  too  much,  I  entreated  him  to  rest,  pro- 
posing to  call  on  him  again,  at  any  time  he  should 
choose. 

"  Have  you  seen  my  aunt  to-day  ?"  said  he, 
suddenly. 

"No;  I  have  not  had  that  pleasure  ;  but  I  be- 
gin to  think  I  have  a  kind  of  right  to  see  her." 

"  I  thought  you  had  seen  her.  You  talk  just  as 
she  does  about  my  exhausting  my  strength ;  and  I 
thought  she  might  have  given  you  a  little  blar- 
ney, to  have  me  receive  it  second-hand,  since  I  re- 
fused it  from  her." 

"  No,  I  have  never  seen  her." 

"  She  ought  to  see  you.  She  is  a  noble  woman. 
You  would  like  her.  Her  beauty  has  bidden  her 
good  night,  long,  long  ago,  but  her  heart  is  as 
green  as  a  shamrock.  I  love  her.  My  heart  will 
warm  towards  her,  after  its  blood  shall  be  too  stiff 
to  move  at  anything  but  the  thought  of  her.  She 
has  a  true  Irish  heart.  There  is  no  English  blood 
in  her." 

"  Perhaps,"   said  I,  "  some  of  her  excellencies 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  49 

which  you  admire,  may  be  owing  quite  as  much 
to  Palestine  as  to  Ireland.  I  can  very  honestly 
assure  you  of  my  high  admiration  of  the  Irish 
character.  When  I  once  heard  one  of  the  Judges 
of  the  Supreme  Court  warmly  affirm,  '  the  most 
noble  living  creature  in  the  world  is  a  well-edu- 
cated Irishman,'  my  whole  heart  accorded  with 
the  declaration  of  that  great  man,  with  no  other 
reserve  than  the  idea,  that  religion  is  the  crowning 
excellence  of  men,  after  all.  But  I  suppose  he 
had  no  reference  to  religion,  and  I  therefore  adopt- 
ed the  sentiment  as  my  own. — But  now  I  wish  to 
ask  you  to  discriminate  a  little,  betwixt  your 
aunt's  qualities  as  an  Irish  woman,  (which  I  have 
no  doubt  are  great,)  and  her  qualities  as  a  Chris- 
tian woman.  In  my  opinion,  her  Christian  excel- 
lencies, you  call  Irish  excellencies  ,  and,  what  in 
her,  helps  to  bind  your  heart  to  the  Emerald  Isle, 
ought  to  bind  it  also  to  the  Saviour  she  adores. 
Indeed,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  expressing  the 
opinion,  that  however  admirable  she  may  be  as  an 
Irish  woman,  she  is  far  more  admirable  as  a 
Christian  woman.  You  ought  to  do  justice  to  her 
religion,  and  feel  the  force  of  her  character  and  ex- 
ample. I  will  venture  to  affirm  for  her,  that  she 
herself,  much  as  she  loves  Ireland,  will  tell  you, 
that  she  is  indebted  to  the  rose  of  Sharon,  more 
than  to  the  green  of  the  Shamrock.  Love  Ireland, 
sir,  as  much  as  you  will.     I  have  no  quarrel  with 

5 


50  THE      YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

you  on  that  ground.  But  do  justice,  in  your  esti- 
mations, to  a  heavenly  religion,  and  to  what  lies 
nearest  to  your  aunt's  own  heart.  She,  I  venture 
to  affirm,  will  lay  down  all  the  honors  you  can 
heap  upon  her,  at  the  foot  of  the  cross.  It  will 
grieve  her,  to  have  you  honor  her  country,  and 
not  honor  her  Christ." 

Springing  suddenly  upon  his  feet,  with  a  look 
of  astonishment  and  indignation,  he  stood  before 
me,  bending  almost  over  me  : — 

"  You  have  seen  her"  said  he,  with  an  accent 
of  resentment. 

"  I  have  not"  said  I,  firmly. 

"  Do  you  speak  true  ?"  said  he. 

"  Sir,"  said  I,  "  my  word  must  not  be  called  in 
question,  anywhere." 

Said  he,  "I  beg  your  pardon.  Excuse  me  :  I 
was  wrong.  But  it  suddenly  occurred  to  me,  that 
you  and  my  aunt  were  playing  a  game  with  me, 
I  thought  she  had  been  telling  you  all  about  me." 

"  What  gave  you  such  a  suspicion  ?" 

"  Because  you  employed  one  of  her  own 
thoughts  ; — that  I  honored  her  country  and  her 
blood,  when  I  ought  to  have  given  the  honor  to 
her  Redeemer.  She  has  said  it  to  me,  the  day, 
sir,  and  often  in  past  time.  But  do  not  look  so 
stern  upon  me.  I  thought  she  had  been  telling 
you.  I  take  back  what  I  said.  I  beg  your  par- 
don.    I  am  incapable  of  offering  you  an  insult." 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  51 

"  Let  that  pass,"  said  I ;  "  I  play  no  games 
upon  anybody.     I  only  desire  your  good." 

"  I  know  it.  And  I  thank  you  for  every  word 
you  have  said  to  me.  I  could  have  no  claim  upon 
you  for  so  much  kindness.  You  have  given  me 
much  of  your  time.  Your  patience  has  not  been 
worn  out  with  me.  You  have  done  what  few 
men  could  do ;  you  have  seen  the  heart  of  me 
rightly,  and  have  indulged  me  in  having  my  own 
strange  way  in  talking  about  religion,  as  I  believe 
few  ministers  would  have  done.  And  if  there  is 
a  Grod  in  heaven,  he  will  reward  you, — I  know  he 
will  reward  you." 

The  tears  gushed  from  his  eyes  ;  and  pulling 
his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  he  turned  away 
from  me,  to  the  window,  and  wept  convulsively. 
After  a  moment,  turning  suddenly  to  me,  with  a 
manifest  effort  to  control  his  emotions,  he  said  : — > 

"  I  am  too  apt  to  lead  you  off  from  our  subject. 
I  am  sorry  for  it.  But  you  have  prevailed  by 
yielding  to  me. — I  want  you  to  stay  a  little 
longer  to-day,  if  you  can.  I  have  not  long  to 
live.  This  cough  and  these  night-sweats  will 
soon  wear  me  out.  I  should  be  an  idiot  to  hope 
to  get  well.  I  have  no  company  now,  except 
yours  and  my  aunt's.  Conversation  does  not  hurt 
me  ;  and  it  would  be  no  matter,  you  know,  if  it 
did.  I  am  soon  to  go.  Earth  has  done  with  me. 
The  grave  lifts  up  her  voice  to  claim  me.     I  am 


52 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 


preparing  to  say,  yes,  I  come.  But  one  thing 
troubles  me.  My  heart  is,  to  tell  you  that  dif- 
ficulty. It  is  not  easy  for  me  to  keep  clear 
from  my  old  infidel  thoughts,  and  I  want  to  tell 
you  how  I  was  led  on  to  be  an  infidel." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  that  very  much,"  said  I. 
"And  as  to  your  amount  of  strength,  I  leave  you 
to  judge  of  it.  I  will  go  or  stay,  just  as  you  de- 
sire, only  tell  me  frankly  what  your  desire  is." 

"  I  thank  you,"  said  he  ;  (his  eyes  filling  with 
tears,)  "  I  am  unable  to  tell  you  how  much  my 
very  heart  thanks  you.  I  know  there  is  little 
value  in  the  thanks  of  a  dying  man  ;  but  they 
are  all  I  have  to  give,  and  my  heart  forces  them 
to  my  tongue." 

"  I  ought  to  thank  you"  said  I,  "  for  these  in- 
terviews. They  gratify  me  much,  and  I  assure 
you  they  profit  me  too." 

After  a  short  pause,  and  subduing  his  emotions, 
he  continued  : — 

"  For  some  time  I  have  been  astonished  at  my- 
self. My  thoughts  are  full  of  evil.  The  old  fol- 
lies will  come  over  me.  They  torment  my  mind  ; 
and  I  know  they  offend  Grod.  My  infidelity  had 
become  interwoven  with  my  strongest  feelings. 
Though  I  have  been  led  to  know  its  deceptions, 
its  old  lies  still  haunt  me,  as  if  a  host  of  infernal 
spirits  were  sent  to  thrust  them  back  into  my 
heart.     This  troubles  me.     I  am  vexed  with  my- 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  53 

self,  because  I  have  not  vigor  of  mind  to  stand  to 
the  truth,  since  I  have  been  convinced  of  it.  My 
wickedness  within  is  too  mighty  for  me.  Satan 
tempts  me  with  his  lies.  It  is  Satan.  He  comes 
to  me  suddenly.  He  comes  at  midnight  some- 
times, when  I  would  pray,  if  I  could ;  and  the 
horrible  idea  darts  like  an  arrow,  into  my  mind, 
'  religion  is  all  a  delusion.'  I  have  said  that  to 
my  aunt  very  often;  and  now  Satan  says  it  to 
me.  I  know  it  is  a  lie  ;  but  the  thought  torments 
my  very  soul." 

"  You  need  not  be  troubled  about  it,"  said  I. 
"  If  you  hunted  up  the  idea  yourself,  or,  if  you 
welcomed  it,  when  it  comes,  you  would  have  some 
cause  for  trouble  and  alarm.  It  is  not  tempta- 
tion that  can  injure  us,  or  prove  our  insincerity. 
The  treatment  we  give  to  temptation  is  the  thing 
to  be  looked  at.  Since  the  temptation  comes  to 
you  without  your  bidding,  and  since  you  do  not 
welcome  it,  but  reject  it,  and  aim  to  dismiss  it,  as 
a  temptation  ;  the  treatment  you  give  it  accords 
with  the  will  of  Grod,  and  shows  that  you  desire 
and  intend  to  obey  him." 

"So  I  do,  sir  ;  but  my  wicked  heart  is  over- 
flowing with  evil.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  how  my 
unbelief  became  blended  with  my  blood.  I  am 
an  Irishman.  Early  in  life  my  country's  wrongs 
lay  on  my  heart,  like  a  burden.  My  blood  burns 
at  this  moment,  to  think  of  the  oppressions  of 

5* 


54  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

England  !  Before  the  suns  of  a  dozen  summers 
had  shone  upon  me,  I  had  learnt  to  say,  '  the 
English  are  tyrants  and  hypocrites.  They  profess 
to  be  a  Christian  people.  But  they  wrong  my 
country !'  As  I  grew  older  I  read  history.  I  read 
the  court  trials,  which  grew  out  of  what  they 
called  '  the  Irish  rebellion  of  ninety-eight.'  I  read 
of  Emmet,  and  other  men  like  him,  led  to  a 
disgraceful  execution,  when  they  deserved  the 
plaudits  of  all  mankind  !  I  read  Curran's 
Speeches.  I  read  of  the  infamous  informers  hired 
by  the  government  to  swear  to  anything,  in  order 
to  get  the  blood  of  an  Irishman !  The  English 
have  oppressed  us,  sir !  They  have  ruined  Ire- 
land by  the  most  cruel  and  heartless  injustice  !  by 
their  tyranny  and  taxation  !  and  then  to  crown 
their  barbarity,  they  call  us  low,  and  stupid,  and 
incapable  of  improvement,  sir  !  and  all  this, 
though  their  victories  have  been  bought  with 
Irish  blood,  and  no  small  part  of  the  eloquence  of 
their  Parliament  itself  was  the  eloquence  of  Irish- 
men." 

He  was  becoming  so  much  excited,  that  I 
thought  it  best  to  interpose,  for  the  purpose  of 
quieting  his  feelings,  and  leading  his  thoughts 
into  another  channel.     I  said  to  him  : — 

"  The  things,  you  complain  of,  were  acts  of  the 
Government,  not  of  the  people.  Many  of  the 
people  did    not   approve   of  them.     None   of  the 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  55 

Christian  people  approved  of  any  injustice.  It 
was  not  religion,  but  irreligion,  which  led  to  any 
oppression  ;  and  you  ought  not  to  lay  down  at  the 
door  of  Christianity  the  blame  which  belongs  to 
her  enemies.  You  attribute  to  religion,  what  you 
ought  to  attribute  to  the  want  of  it.  If  all  the 
people  and  the  government  had  been  controlled  by 
the  principles  of  Christianity,  there  would  have 
been  none  of  those  wrongs  which  so  much  excite 
you." 

"  I  know  it,  sir.  I  am  sure  of  it,"  said  he. 
"  But  I  was  telling  you  how  I  was  made  an  in- 
fidel. The  English  boast  of  their  magnanimity. 
They  talk  loftily  of  '  English  honor,'  and  of  their 
*  religion.'  And  only  a  few  days  since — let  me 
see — it  was  this  day  eight-days,  as  I  was  reading 
an  old  paper,  I  came  upon  the  place  where  one  of 
your  own  statesmen  calls  England,  '  the  bulwark 
of  our  holy  religion.'  It  is  too  much,  sir!  Op- 
pression, heartless  and  unrelenting  oppression  car- 
ried on  through  ages,  cannot  be  justified  !  There 
is  no  apology  for  it.  And  after  all  this  ;  for  the 
English  to  speak  of  their  Christianity,  and  call 
themselves  '  the  most  religious  nation  on  earth,' 
and  make  other  people  believe  it — sir,  there  never 
was  any  impudence  equal  to  this  !  Look  at  India, 
sir !  The  English  have  made  her  red  with  the 
blood  of  her  innocent  children  !  They  have  made 
themselves  rich  with  the  gold,  of  which  they  have 


56  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

robbed  her !  They  have  butchered  the  half-civil- 
ized people  by  the  thousands  and  hundreds  of 
thousands !  with  no  decent  argument  of  justice, 
and  for  no  other  reason,  than  to  gratify  their  own 
lordly  pride  and  get  riches  by  the  right  of  their 
cannon !  And  when  the  news  of  a  new  victory 
over  the  feeble  reaches  '  brave  England ;'  they 
call  themselves  a  religious  people,  and  give  thanks 
to  God  in  their  churches  for  success  on  another 
field  of  butchery  !  This  completes  the  farce  ;  till 
the  very  next  year  brings  round  a  like  occasion  ! 
All  this  is  true,  sir.  You  cannot  dispute  it.  It  is 
history.  And  when  I  began  in  early  life,  to  learn 
such  transactions,  I  could  not  respect  a  religion, 
that  would  allow  them.  I  disbelieved  in  such  a 
religion.  I  became  an  infidel.  The  true  history 
of  England  is  enough  to  make  a  world  full  of  in- 
fidels !  Ireland  and  India  tell  tales  of  blood  about 
the  religion  of  England.  I  can  respect  Mahom- 
etanism.  It  acts  according  to  its  principles.  I 
can  respect  Popery  and  her  Inquisition,  for  the 
same  reason.  But  Protestant  England,  as  she 
calls  herself,  I  despise  for  her  mean  hypocrisy ! 
Her  religion  is  described  in  three  words, — pride, 
avarice,  and  oppression.  All  this  became  stamp- 
ed into  my  heart,  as  I  was  growing  up  towards 
manhood.  I  knew  that  the  established  church  of 
England  was  nothing  but  a  part  of  her  govern- 
mental hypocrisy.     I  knew  that  her  Protestantism 


THE     YOUNG    IRISHMAN.  57 

was  only  a  political  pretence.  I  felt  for  my  coun- 
try's wrongs  ;  and  I  rejected  religion,  because  of 
the  example  that  I  studied  so  constantly.  The 
example  never  appeared  more  base  to  me,  than  it 
does  this  moment.  And  I  am  troubled  now  be- 
cause my  old  system  of  thought  will  come  back 
upon  me,  like  a  torrent,  and  tempt  me  to  disbe- 
lieve in  Christianity,  as  often  as  I  think  of  the 
wrongs  of  my  country." 

Said  I,  "In  my  opinion,  you  can  easily  get  over 
all  that  difficulty.  You  have  only  to  think  of 
that  which  you  know  to  be  true,  that  is,  that 
Christianity  never  sanctioned  any  of  the  pride, 
avarice  and  oppression  you  complain  of;  but  that 
it  was  abusively  made  a  cloak  to  cover  such  sins. 
In  that  nation  it  became  linked  with  the  govern- 
ment,— (which  union  I  dislike  as  much  as  you 
do, — )  and  because  of  that  union  it  became  cor- 
rupted. As  you  took  the  government  and  its  ac- 
tions for  an  example  of  the  influence  of  religion, 
or,  for  a  test  of  its  truth,  you  looked  in  the  wrong 
direction.  You  should  rather  have  looked  at  the 
pious  in  private  life.  You  should  have  looked 
where  there  was  some  influence  of  Christianity, 
— not  where  there  was  none.  You  should  have 
looked  at  the  Bible  Society,  the  Missionary  So- 
ciety, the  Sunday  Schools  and  Orphan  Asylums, 
and  attempts  to  relieve  the  oppressed  and  down- 
trodden.    There  was  religion  in  fact,  not  in  mere 


58  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

name.  And  now,  when  you  perceive  that  you 
erred,  in  taking  what  men  falsely  called  religion, 
as  an  example  of  it,  surely  you  need  not  be 
troubled  with  your  old  infidelity." 

"  So  it  seems  to  me,"  said  he.  "  But  Satan 
tempts  me,  as  if  I  was  now  embracing  a  religion 
which  has  crushed  my  country." 

"  It  never  crushed  your  country.  You  kiiow  it 
never  did.  It  was  a  spirit  directly  the  opposite 
of  Christianity,  which  perpetrated  the  sins  you 
complain  of.  Christianity  would  have  saved  your 
country.  And  you  ought  to  welcome  it  to  your 
heart,  for  your  eternal  salvation,  more  eagerly 
than  you  would  ever  have  welcomed  a  deliverer  to 
your  native  land." 

"  So  I  do,"  said  he.  "  So  I  will.  I  believe  in 
Christianity.  I  know  I  need  it.  I  believe  Jesus 
Christ  came  to  save  sinners.  I  trust  him  to  save 
me.  I  rely  on  the  Holy  Spirit  to  aid  me  against 
the  temptations  of  Satan  and  the  sinfulness  of  my 
own  heart.  You  spoke  of  examples  of  religion  in 
private  life.  Let  me  tell  you,  the  example  of  my 
old  aunt  has  been  a  demonstration  to  me.  Satan 
cannot  shake  it." 

I  again  proposed  to  leave  him  for  the  present, 
and  call  at  another  time,  lest  so  long  a  conversa- 
tion should  injure  him. 

"  Another  time  /"  said  he,  "  another  time  ! 
You  astonish   me,  sir  !     I   am  a  dying  man  !     I 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  59 

stand  on  the  verge  of  time  now  !  I  feel  that  the 
grave-digger  is  at  the  side  of  me  !  You  may  talk 
of  time.  "With  your  health  and  prospects,  it  is 
not  unnatural.  But  if  I  should  be  talking  of 
time,  death  would  laugh  at  me,  and  call  me  fool 
and  liar  !" — And  then,  turning  to  me,  and  fixing 
his  keen  eyes  upon  my  face,  as  he  stood  before 
me : — "  Tell  me  what  to  do,  to  be  ready  to  die." 

Said  I,  "  You  believe  in  Grod,  the  Infinite,  Eter- 
nal Spirit." 

"  i"  do,"  said  he. 

"  Then  pray  to  him,"  said  I. 

"  I  have,  and  I  will"  said  he. 

**  You  believe  you  are  a  sinner  ?"  said  I. 

u  I  know  I  am"  said  he. 

"  Then  repent,  and  trust  in  Christ  for  pardon." 

"  "Will  repentance  save  me  ?" 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  Christ  Jesus  saves  sinners. 
You  must  not  trust  to  your  repentance  and  faith 
to  save  you.  That  would  be  self-righteousness. 
Trust  only  in  the  crucified  Son  of  Grod,  your  pro- 
posed surety." — (After  a  pause — ) 

"  What  must  be  done  first,  before  I  trust  in 
him." 

"  Nothing.     Just  nothing." 

"  How  ?     Is  there  no  preparation  to  make  ?" 

"  No  ;  none  at  all." 

"  But,  holiness — "said  he. 

u  Results  from  faith  in  Christ,"  said  I. 


6C  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

"And  the  Holy  Spirit—"  said  lie. 

"  Is  your  only  hope,"  said  I.  "  Without  his 
aid  you  will  neither  repent  nor  believe.  It  is  his 
Dfnce  to  take  of  the  things  of  Christ,  and  show 
them  unto  us." 

"  Will  you  pray  with  me  ?"  said  he. 

We  fell  on  our  knees.  I  offered  a  short  prayer, 
and  left  him. — I  never  saw  him  afterwards. 

I  called  to  see  him  the  next  day,  but  his  friends 
would  not  allow  it,  because  he  was  so  much  ex- 
hausted. I  understood  from  his  nurse,  that  im- 
mediately after  I  left  him  the  day  before,  he  sent 
for  his  aunt,  told  her  that  he  renounced  all  his 
infidelity,  that  he  had  not  a  doubt  the  Bible  was 
from  Grod,  and  that  the  atonement  of  Jesus  Christ 
was  all-sufficient  for  a  dying  sinner.  He  con- 
tinued his  conversation  and  prayer  with  her,  till 
he  fainted ;  and  she  was  obliged  to  call  for  aid,  to 
lift  him  from  the  floor,  and  lay  him  upon  his  bed. 

I  made  another  attempt  to  see  him,  but  his 
aunt  sent  word  to  me  at  the  door,  that  she  was 
very  grateful  for  my  attentions  to  him  and  thank- 
ed me  much  ;  but  she  begged  me  not  to  come  in, 
for  he  was  not  able  to  see  me.  He  had  not 
strength  to  utter  a  sentence. 

Just  at  this  time,  I  left  home,  and  on  my  return 
after  an  absence  of  three  weeks,  I  learned  that 
he  was  buried  the  week  before  my  return.  I 
could  not  find  his  aunt.     I  have  never  seen  her, 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  bl 

and  know  not  the  reason  why  she  sent  for  me, 
only  as  I  understood  from  the  lady  at  whose  house 
he  died,  that  she  had  at  some  time  heard  me 
preach.  This  same  lady  told  me,  that  "  the 
young  man  died  in  peace,  with  praises  for  the 
atonement  of  Jesus  Christ  on  his  lips." 


I  have  never  had  my  feelings  more  deeply  in- 
terested, than  they  were  in  this  young  Irishman. 
He  was  a  man  of  uncommon  talents.  He  was 
frank  and  candid.  He  was  full  of  enthusiasm. 
It  is  impossible  to  convey  in  writing  any  just  idea 
of  the  ardor  and  eloquence  with  which  he  spoke, 
when  he  became  excited.  There  was  a  sort  of  ro- 
mance, too,  in  the  mystery  in  which  his  aunt  so 
constantly  shrouded  herself.  He  was  an  avowed 
infidel.  And  what,  in  my  opinion,  is  a  very  un- 
common thing,  he  was  an  honest  infidel.  The 
arguments,  by  which  he  attempted  to  sustain  his 
infidelity,  were  peculiar.  He  was  evidently  in 
the  last  stages  of  life,  the  subject  of  a  hasty  con- 
sumption, of  which  nobody  could  be  more  sensible 
than  himself.  He  was  open  to  conviction.  And 
it  was  very  evident,  that  he  entertained  a  most 
profound  respect  for  his  pious  aunt,  who  had  in- 
duced him  to  send  for  me. 


62  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

I  think  it  likely,  that  that  woman  was  the  real 
means  of  his  conversion  and  salvation.  She  was 
an  example  of  practical  piety,  which  his  infidelity 
could  not  refute,  and  which  his  conscience  could 
not  but  honor.  He  evidently  did  not  say  to  me  all 
that  he  felt  on  that  subject.  Whenever  he  alluded 
to  her,  after  a  few  words,  he  would  seem  to  check 
himself,  and  soon  change  the  subject.  But,  occa- 
sionally, when  he  became  excited,  some  expres- 
sion would  come  out,  which  showed  how  powerful 
her  influence  had  been  over  him.  I  can  never  for- 
get the  ardor  and  depth  of  emotion,  with  which 
he  uttered  the  expression  : — M  You  spoke  of  ex- 
amples of  religion  in  private  life.  Let  me  tell 
you,  the  example  of  my  old  aunt  has  been  a  dem- 
onstration to  me.     Satan  cannot  shake  it." 

It  is  true  that  infidelity  cannot  withstand  the 
force  of  reason  and  argument ;  but  true  godly  ex- 
ample can  come  nearer  the  life-spot  of  religion. 
It  knocks  at  the  door  of  the  heart.  If  the  truths 
of  Christianity  were  seconded  by  the  devoted  and 
pious  lives  of  all  her  professed  disciples,  the  unbe- 
lief of  the  world  would  soon  cease.  Private  ex- 
ample of  godliness  is  what  the  world  most  needs. 

All  men  will  not  think  alike  in  reference  to  the 
mode  in  which  this  young  Irishman  was  led  into 
infidelity.  Perhaps  he  too  much  blamed  the  gov- 
ernment of  England.  Perhaps,  also,  his  feelings 
vowar<\;»  the  people  were  governed  by  a  very  natu- 


THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN.  63 

ral  prejudice.  But  it  is  much  to  be  deplored,  that 
the  governments  of  nations  professing  to  be  Chris- 
tian, have  been  so  unjust,  so  ready  for  war  and 
conquest ;  and  that  the  Christian  people  of  such 
nations  have  so  often  sunk  their  principles  amid 
the  waves  of  some  exciting  popularity,  and  have 
shouted  over  a  victory  in  war,  when  they  ought 
to  have  shed  tears  of  bitterness  over  its  injustice 
and  cruelty.  They  little  reflect  how  much  their 
conformity  to  the  world  hinders  the  triumphs  of 
religion.  War  and  conquest,  too,  may  sometimes 
be  inevitable  perhaps.  The  general  injustice  of 
mankind  may  sometimes  make  deadly  conflict 
necessary  for  the  defence  of  the  good  against  the 
wicked.  But  Christians  and  Christian  nations 
have  much  to  answer  for,  on  account  of  such 
things  as  this  young  Irishman  complained  of. 
Too  much  of  our  religion  is  stained  with  the  pride, 
and  politics,  and  avarice  of  the  world.  "  Come 
out  of  her,  my  people." 

I  have  some  reason  to  believe,  that  no  small 
blame  was  imputed  to  me,  for  remaining  so  long 
at  a  time,  with  a  sick  man,  and  hastening,  (as 
they  said,)  his  death,  by  my  exhausting  conversa- 
tion. But  he  never  blamed  me.  I  venture  to  af- 
firm his  aunt  never  blamed  me.  They  were  quite 
as  good  judges  of  propriety,  as  those  who  were 
half-strangers  to  him  in  a  boarding-house.  More- 
over, it  would  have  been  heartless  to  leave  him, 


64  THE     YOUNG     IRISHMAN. 

and  would  have  tended  to  make  him  call  in  ques- 
tion my  sense  of  the  importance  and  reality  of 
the  religion  I  urged  upon  him,  when  he  used  such 
language  as  I  have  here  recorded.  "  No,  sir  ;  you 
are  not  to  leave  me  yet.  Conversation  does  not 
hurt  me  ;  and  it  would  be  no  matter,  you  know, 
if  it  did.  I  am  a  dying  man.  I  stand  on  the 
verge  of  time  now.  I  feel  that  the  grave-digger 
is  at  the  side  of  me. — Another  time !  sir ;  an- 
other time  !  You  astonish  me  !  You  may  talk 
of  time.  But  if  I  should  be  talking  of  time, 
death  would  laugh  at  me,  and  call  me  fool  and 
liar.  Earth  has  done  with  me.  The  grave  lifts 
up  her  voice  to  claim  me.  I  am  preparing  to  say, 
yes,  I  come." — Some  men  perhaps  might  have  left 
a  man  who  talked  thus.  I  could  not.  I  am 
sure,  if  any  wise  man  had  been  in  my  place,  and 
known  him  as  I  did,  he  would  have  done  as  I  did. 


FAITH   EVERYTHING 


Among  a  large  number  of  young  people,  who,  at 
one  time,  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting  me  every 
week,  for  the  purpose  of  personal  conversation  on 
the  subject  of  religion  ;  there  was  a  very  quiet, 
contemplative  young  woman,  whose  candor  and 
simplicity  of  heart  interested  me  very  much.  She 
did  not  appear  to  me,  to  be  susceptible  of  much 
impulsive  emotion,  but  to  be  very  much  a  child  of 
thought.  Her  convictions  of  sin,  which  appeared 
to  me  to  be  deep  and  clear,  were  uniformly  ex- 
pressed, more  in  the  language  of  reason,  than  of 
emotion  ;  so  that  I  sometimes  feared,  that  she  had 
only  an  ordinary  and  intellectual  conviction,  with- 
out much  real  discovery  of  her  character,  as  a  sin- 
ner against  God.  In  addition  to  all  the  conver- 
sation I  could  have  with  her  in  the  presence  of 
others  ;  I  often  visited  her  at  her  own  home.  And 
because  of  her  apparent  destitution  of  any  deep 
emotions,  and  my  consequent  fear,  that  her  con- 
victions were  more  speculative  than  real ;  I  labor- 

6* 


66  FAITH     EVERYTHING. 

ed  to  unfold  to  her  the  character  of  Grod,  his  Law, 
the  nature  of  sin,  the  state  of  her  own  heart ;  and 
aimed  to  impress  truths  of  this  kind  upon  her  feel- 
ings and  conscience.  She  assented  to  it  all. — I 
urged  upon  her,  the  necessity  of  immediate  repent- 
ance, her  lost  condition  as  a  sinner,  and  her  indis- 
pensable necessity  of  the  atoning  blood  and  right- 
eousness of  Jesus  Christ,  to  save  her  from  merited 
condemnation.  She  assented  to  all  this. — I  ex- 
plained to  her,  again  and  again,  the  whole  way  of 
salvation  for  sinners,  the  grace  of  Grod,  and  the 
willingness  of  Christ  to  save  her.  She  said  she 
believed  it  all. — I  cautioned  her  against  resisting 
the  Holy  Spirit,  by  unbelief,  by  prayerlessness,  by 
delaying  her  repentance  and  her  fleeing  to  Christ; 
and  in  every  mode  that  my  thoughts  could  devise, 
I  tried  to  lead  her  to  the  gospel  salvation.  But  it 
all  seemed  to  be  ineffectual.  She  remained  ap- 
parently in  the  same  state  of  mind.  Thus  she 
continued  for  several  weeks.  She  gained  nothing, 
and  lost  nothing.  Studious  of  her  Bible,  prayer- 
ful, attentive  to  all  the  means  of  grace,  she  was 
still  without  peace,  and  still  manifested  no  ad- 
ditional anxiety,  and  no  disposition  to  discontinue 
her  attempts  to  attain  salvation.  For  a  time,  there 
had  been  with  her  manifestly  an  increasing  solem- 
nity and  depth  of  seriousness ;  but  this  time  had 
gone  by  ;  and  she  remained,  to  all  appearance, 
fixed  in  the  same  unchanging  state  of  mind. 


FAITH     EVERYTHING.  67 

Such  was  her  condition,  when  I  visited  her 
again,  without  much  expectation  of  any  good  to 
result  from  anything  I  could  say.  After  many 
inquiries,  and  trying  all  my  skill  to  ascertain,  if 
possible,  whether  there  was  any  vital  religious 
truth  which  she  did  not  understand,  or  any  sin 
which  she  was  not  willing  to  abandon ;  I  said  to 
her  plainly : — "  Mary,  I  can  do  you  no  good !  I 
have  said  to  you  everything  appropriate  to  your 
state,  that  I  can  think  of.  I  would  aid  you  most 
willingly,  if  I  could  ;  but  I  can  do  you  no  good." 

"  I  do  not  think  you  can,"  said  she  calmly ; 
"  but  I  hope  you  will  still  come  to  see  me." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  I.  "  But  all  I  can  say  to 
you  is,  /  know  there  is  salvation  for  you ;  but  you 
must  repent,  you  must  flee  to  Christ." 

We  went  from  her  house  directly  to  the  evening 
lecture.  I  commenced  the  service,  by  reading  the 
Hymn  of  Dr.  Watts : — 

There  is  a  voice  of  sovereign  grace 

Sounds  from  the  sacred  word ; 
"  Ho !  ye  despairing  sinners  come 

And  trust  upon  the  Lord." 

My  soul  obeys  the  almighty  call, 

And  runs  to  this  relief ; 
I  would  believe  thy  promise,  Lord, 

Oh !  help  my  unbelief. 

To  the  dear  fountain  of  thy  blood, 
Incarnate  Go i  I  flv : 


68  FAITH     EVERYTHING. 

Here  let  me  wash  my  spotted  soul 
From  crimes  of  deepest  die. 

Stretch  out  thine  arm,  victorious  King, 

My  reigning  sins  subdue  ; 
Drive  the  old  dragon  from  his  seat, 

With  his  apostate  crew. 

A  guilty,  weak,  and  helpless  worm, 

On  thy  kind  arms  I  fall ; 
Be  thou  my  strength  and  righteousness, 

My  Jesus  and  my  all ! 

This  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  service  conducted 
in  the  usual  manner.  I  forgot  all  about  Mary,  as 
an  individual,  and  preached  as  appropriately  as  I 
was  able,  to  the  congregation  before  me. 

The  next  day  she  came  to  me  to  tell  me,  that 
she  "  had  made  a  new  discovery." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "  what  is  it  that  you  have  dis- 
covered ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  she,  "  the  way  of  salvation  all 
seems  to  me  now  perfectly  plain.  My  darkness  is 
all  gone.     I  see  now  what  I  never  saw  before." 

"  Do  you  see  that  you  have  given  up  sin 
and  the  world?  and  given  your  whole  heart  to 
Christ  ?" 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  a  Christian ;  but  I 
have  never  been  so  happy  before.  All  is  light  to 
me  now.  I  see  my  way  clear  ;  and  I  am  not  bur- 
dened and  troubled  as  I  was." 


FAITH     EVERYTHING.  69 

"And  how  is  this?  what  has  brought  you  to 
this  state  of  mind  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  how  it  is,  or  what  has  brought 
me  to  it.  But  when  you  were  reading  that 
Hymn  last  night,  I  saw  the  whole  way  of  salva- 
tion for  sinners  perfectly  plain,  and  wondered  that 
I  had  never  seen  it  before.  I  saw  that  I  had 
nothing  to  do,  but  to  trust  in  Christ : 

A  guilty,  weak,  and  helpless  worm, 
On  thy  kind  arms  I  fall. 

I  sat  all  the  evening,  just  looking  at  that  hymn. 
I  did  not  hear  your  prayer.  I  did  not  hear  a 
word  of  your  sermon.  I  do  not  know  your  text. 
I  thought  of  nothing  but  that  hymn ;  and  I  have 
been  thinking  of  it  ever  since.  It  is  so  light,  and 
makes  me  so  contented.  Why,  sir,"  (said  she,  in 
the  perfect  simplicity  of  her  heart,  never  thinking 
that  she  was  repeating  what  had  been  told  her  a 
thousand  times,)  "  don't  you  think  that  the  reason 
why  we  do  not  get  out  of  darkness  sooner ',  is,  that 
we  don't  hdieve  ?" 

"Just  that,  Mary, — precisely  that.  Faith  in 
Jesus  Christ  to  save  is  the  way  to  heaven." 

The  idea  had  not  yet  occurred  to  her  mind,  that 
she  was  a  Christian.  She  had  only  discovered  the 
way.  I  did  not  think  it  wise  for  me  to  suggest 
the  idea  to  her  at  all,  but  leave  her  to  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Holy  Spirit  and  the  truth  of  the  hymn. 


70  FAITH     EVERYTHING. 

If  the  Holy  Spirit  had  given  her  a  new  heart,  I 
trusted  he  would  lead  her  to  hope,  as  soon  as  he 
wanted  her  to  hope  The  hymn  which  had  open- 
ed her  eyes,  was  ths  best  truth  for  her  to  medi- 
tate at  present. 

I  conversed  with  her  for  some  time.  She  had 
no  more  troubles,  no  darkness,  no  difficulties. 
All  was  clear  to  her  mind,  and  she  rejoiced  in  the 
unexpected  discovery  she  had  made.  "  I  now 
know  what  to  do"  said  she ;  "I  must  trust  in 
Jesus  Christ ;  and  I  believe  Grod  will  enable  me  to 
do  so." 

It  was  not  till  after  the  lapse  of  some  days,  that 
she  began  to  hope, — that  she  had  really  become 
reconciled  to  Grod.  But  she  finally  came  to  the 
conclusion,  that  her  religion  commenced  when  she 
sat,  that  evening,  pondering  that  hymn,  and  won- 
dering she  "  had  never  discovered  before,  that 
sinners  must  believe." 

She  afterwards  became  a  communicant  in  the 
church  ;  and  to  the  day  of  her  death,  so  far  as  I 
have  been  able  to  ascertain,  she  lived  as  a  be- 
liever. 


This  case  has  suggested  to  my  mind  the  in- 
quiry, whether,  as  ministers,  after  all  our  preach- 
ing upon  faith,  we  do  not  fail  to  insist  directly 


FAITH     EVERYTHING.  71 

upon  it  as  we  ought,  and  tell  inquirers,  as  Mary 
told  me,  "  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to  trust." 
I  deem  it  not  improbable,  that  by  the  extensive 
and  labored  explanations  we  give,  the  minds  of 
inquirers  are  often  confused ;  and  the  very  way 
we  take  to  make  religion  plain,  is  the  very  means 
of  making  it  obscure  ;  and  that  Mary's  simplicity 
of  faith  would  be  a  far  better  sermon  for  many 
such  persons.  All  the  matter  of  a  soul's  closing 
with  Christ  may  be  wrapped  up  in  a  very  little 
space, — may  be  a  very  simple  thing.  And  what 
that  thing  is,  the  Holy  Spirit  seems  to  have 
taught  Mary,  "  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  to 
trust.' 


SIMPLICITY   OF   FAITH. 


The  simplicity  of  Faith  was  once  illustrated  to 
me  in  another,  and  a  very  different  manner. 

I  was  preaching  my  ordinary  weekly  lecture  in 
the  evening ;  when  I  was  sent  for  in  great  haste,  to 
visit  a  woman  who  was  said  to  be  dying,  and  who 
very  much  desired  to  see  me.  I  closed  the  service, 
as  soon  as  I  could,  and  went  immediately  to  her 
house.  She  was  a  member  of  my  church,  whom 
I  had  known  very  well,  for  years ;  with  whom  I 
had  been  acquainted  ever  since  her  first  serious 
impressions,  before  she  became  a  communicant. 
As  I  entered  the  room  where  she  lay,  I  found  it 
filled  with  her  friends,  who  had  gathered  around 
her  to  see  her  die.  Making  my  way  through  the 
midst  of  them,  I  reached  the  side  of  her  bed,  and 
found  her  apparently  in  the  last  agonies  of  death. 
She  was  bolstered  up  in  her  bed,  gasping  for 
breath,  almost  suffocated  by  the  asthma ;  and  the 
whole   bed  shook,  by  a  palpitation  of  her  heart, 


SIMPLICITY     OF      FAITH  73 

which  seemed  to  be  shaking  her  to  pieces.  It  ap- 
peared to  me,  that  she  could  not  live  the  quarter 
of  an  hour.     I  said  to  her  ,• — 

"  Mrs.  M.,  you  seem  to  be  very  sick?" 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "lam  dying." 

"  And  are  you  ready  to  die  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  upon  me,  with  a  solemn  and 
fixed  gaze,  and  speaking  with  great  difficulty,  she 
replied ; — 

"  Sir,  God  knows — I  have  taken  him — at  his 
word- — and — I  am  not  afraid — to  die." 

It  was  a  new  definition  of  faith.  "  I  have  taken 
him  at  his  word."  It  struck  me  in  an  instant,  as 
a  triumph  of  faith.  "  God  knows  I  have  taken 
him  at  his  word,  and  I  am  not  afraid  to  die."  It 
was  just  the  thing  for  her  to  say.  I  have  often 
tried  to  think,  what  else  she  could  have  said,  that 
would  have  expressed  so  much,  in  such  few  words. 

I  prayed,  some  four  minutes,  by  her  bed-side, 
recited  to  her  some  passages  of  God's  word,  and 
was  about  to  leave  her,  for  a  moment,  to  her 
friends,  whom  she  seemed  anxious  to  address. 
She  held  me  by  the  hand ;  and  uttering  a  word  at 
a  time,  as  she  gasped  for  breath,  she  said  to  me  ; — 

"  I  wanted  to  tell  you — that  I  can — trust — in 
God — while — I  am  dying. — You  have — often  told 
me — he  would  not- — forsake  me. — And  now — I 
find — it  true. — I  am — at  peace. — I  die — willingly 
— and  happy." 


74  SI. VI  PL  I  CITY     OF      FAITH. 

In  a  few  minutes,  I  left  her,  uttering  to  her 
such  promises  of  the  Saviour,  as  I  deemed  most 
appropriate. — However,  she  did  not  die.  She  still 
lives.  But  that  expression  of  her  faith  has  been 
of  great  benefit  to  me.  It  has  aided  me  in  preach- 
ing, and  in  conversation  with  inquiring  sinners 
very  often.  It  gave  me  a  more  simple  idea  of 
faith,  than  I  ever  had  before.  It  put  aside  all  the 
mist  of  metaphysics,  speculation,  and  philosophi- 
zing. It  made  the  whole  nature  of  faith  plain. 
Everybody  could  understand  it : — "  God  knows,  I 
have  taken  him  at  his  word  " 


If  I  am  not  mistaken,  many  of  the  speculations 
about  faith  have  no  tendency  to  invite  faith. 
Rather  the  contrary.  The  speculations  tend  to 
throw  over  the  exercises  of  faith  an  obscurity — 
tend  to  give  them  a  dimness  and  distance,  which 
make  them  too  uncertain  and  too  far  off,  for  either 
clearness  or  comfort.  We  cannot  afford  to  take 
such  long  journeys,  and  through  such  intricate 
windings.  The  Bible  never  asks  us  to  do  it. 
"  The  word  is  nigh  thee,  even  in  thy  mouth  and 
in  thy  heart,  that  is,  the  word  of  faith  which  we 
preach,  that  if  thou  shalt  confess  with  thy  mouth 
the  Lord  Jesus,  and  shalt  believe  in  thy  heart, 
that  Grod  hath  raised   him  from  the  dead,  thou 


SIMPLICITY     OF     FAITH.  75 

i 

shalt  be  saved."  This  is  all  clear  ;  "  nigh  thee." 
It  is  God's  word.  Speculations  cannot  improve  it. 
Explanations  cannot  make  it  invite  faith,  only  as 
they  make  its  simplicity  understood. 

Many  of  the  published  Dissertations,  on  the 
nature  and  philosophy  of  the  atonement,  may  be 
deep,  but  they  are  dark.  "We  cannot  afford  to 
travel  along  such  weary  distances,  and  through 
such  twilight  paths,  in  order  to  get  at  the  fact — at 
what  it  is,  that  we  are  to  believe,  and  trust  in. 
The  Bible  puts  it  directly  before  us  ; — "  slain  for 
us, — the  just  for  the  unjust,  that  he  might  bring 
us  to  God."  We  are  asked  to  receive  it,  just  on 
God's  testimony  :  not  by  the  aids  of  philosophy, 
but  on  the  declaration  of  the  fact.  We  "  make 
God  a  liar,"  if  we  do  not  "  believe  the  testimony, 
which  he  hath  given  us  of  his  Son."  We  must 
take  it  on  God's  declaration.  That  is  faith.  The 
speculations  may  be  useful  to  silence  scepticism  ; 
but  they  never  soften  hearts.  They  may  make  us 
scholars ;  but  they  never  make  us  children,  or 
lead  us  home.  The  atonement  satisfies  God.  He 
Says  so.  That  is  enough.  Leave  it  there.  Men 
may  try  ;  but  they  will  try  in  vain,  when  they  at- 
tempt to  convert  the  weapons  for  defending 
against  infidelity,  into  bread  to  feed  God's  hungry 
children.  We  must  "  take  God  at  his  word." 
The  philosophy  of  religion,  is  just  faith  :  nothing 
more. 


76  SIMPLICITY     OF     FAITH. 

Many  of  our  treatises  on  the  subjects  of  faith, 
(having  a  kind  of  Germanizing  about  them — a 
kind  of  crazy  philosophizing),  are  so  filled  up  with 
explanations,  and  labored  justifications,  and  at- 
tempted analogies  ;  that  they  have  more  tendency 
to  awaken  doubt,  than  call  forth  faith.  They 
have  just  the  effect,  to  make  the  reader  believe, 
that  the  authors  are  not  themselves  quite  certain 
of  the  things  since  they  take  so  much  pains  to 
demonstrate,  explain,  and  justify  it.  They  appear 
to  go  back  of  God's  word,  and  invite  other  people 
to  go  along  with  them,  as  if  God's  word  needed 
the  props  of  their  philosophy.  This  is  no  aid  to 
faith.  Let  us  "take  God  at  his  word."  No  phi- 
losophy can  prop  up  a  divine  promise :  or  build  a 
scaffolding  to  reach  it. — Some  of  our  Theologians, 
having  a  kind  of  German  baptism,  are  more  like- 
ly to  make  infidels,  than  make  Christians.  The 
same  thing  may  be  said  of  a  great  deal  of  mod- 
ern religious  literature — filled  with  philosophy, 
"  falsely  so  called." 


WAITING  FOR  THE  HOLY  SPIRIT. 


Nearly  twenty  years  have  now  passed  away, 
since  I  became  acquainted  with  the  individual,  of 
whom  I  am  now  to  speak.  I  was  called  upon  to 
preach,  in  connection  with  other  ministers  of  the 
gospel,  in  a  large  village,  and  during  the  con- 
tinuance of  what  was  denominated  a  "  protracted 
meeting."  These  meetings  had  this  designation 
from  the  fact,  that  they  were  continued,  from  day 
to  day,  for  several  successive  days.  The  exercises 
usually  consisted,  in  that  part  of  the  country,  of 
preaching  in  the  morning,  afternoon  and  evening, 
with  meetings  for  prayer  and  religious  inquiry,  be- 
fore or  after  sermon.  The  sermons  were  usually 
preached,  by  those  ministers  settled  in  his  vicinity, 
whom  the  minister  of  the  church  where  the  meet- 
ing was  held,  had  invited  for  that  purpose.  At 
one  of  these  meetings,  I  preached  a  sermon  on  the 
influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  It  was  a  time  of  re- 
vival in  the  church ;  and  the  truths  of  the  gospel, 
7* 


78  WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT. 

preached  at  such  a  time,  when  the  Spirit  of  God 
was  poured  out,  and  when  people  were  peculiarly 
attentive  and  solemn,  were  not  likely  to  be  entire- 
ly forgotten,  even  by  those  who  were  mere  hearers 
of  the  word. 

Some  months  after  this,  as  I  entered  the  same 
village  again,  on  my  way  from  a  similar  meeting 
in  an  adjoining  parisri,  I  beheld  a  crowd  of  people 
entering  the  Town  Hall.  I  inquired  the  reason, 
and  was  told  there  was  "  a  religions  meeting 
there,  that  evening,  probably  a  prayer  meeting." 
I  gave  my  horse  into  the  charge  of  the  hostler  at 
the  tavern,  and  without  waiting  for  tea,  mingled 
with  the  crowd,  and  entered  the  hall.  Having  al- 
ready preached  three  times  that  day,  and  convers- 
ed with  numbers  who  were  seeking  the  Lord,  I 
was  too  much  wearied  to  think  of  doing  anything 
more ;  and  therefore  endeavored  to  keep  out  of 
the  sight  of  the  clergyman,  by  taking  a  back  seat, 
and  leaning  down  my  head.  My  attempt  was  in 
vain.  He  discovered  me,  and  requested  me  to 
come  forward  to  the  desk.  I  preached  a  short 
sermon,  the  people  dispersed,  and  I  went  with  the 
clergyman  to  his  home. 

"We  were  not  seated  in  the  parlor,  before  a  ser- 
vant entered,  and  said,  a  lady  in  the  hall  wished 
to  see  me.  I  immediately  stepped  into  the  hall, 
and  a  very  genteel  woman,  about  forty  years  of 
age,  addressed  me,  with  evident  agitation  : — 


WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT.  79 

'*  I  beg  your  pardon  for  troubling  you  to-night, 
sir,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  T  have  longed  to  see 
you  ever  since  you  preached  here  in  August.  I 
have  often  felt  that  I  would  give  anything  to  see 
you,  for  even  five  minutes.  T  have  prayed  for 
that  privilege.  And  when  I  saw  you  in  the  Town 
Hall  to-night,  I  was  so  rejoiced  that  I  could 
hardly  remain  in  my  seat ;  and  I  determined  to 
follow  you  when  you  went  out,  till  I  got  a  chance 
to  speak  with  you." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Madam;  but  I 
suspect  you  have  taken  all  this  trouble  in  vain." 

"  Why,  sir,  cannot  you  talk  with  me  one 
minute  ?  cannot  you  answer  me  one  question  ?" 
said  she,  her  eyes  overflowing  with  tears. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  Madam  ;  I  can  talk  with 
you  as  long  as  you  please  to  favor  me  with  your 
company,  and  will  answer  any  questions  you 
choose  to  ask,  as  well  as  I  can  ;  but  I  suspect  you 
need  an  aid  which  I  cannot  give  you." 

"  Sir,  I  want  only  one  thing  of  you.  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  how  I  shall  procure  the  Holy 
Spirit.  I  have  wanted  to  ask  you  this  question 
for  months.  If  you  will  only  tell  me,  I  will  not 
intrude  myself  upon  you  any  longer." 

(Entirely  overcome  with  her  emotions,  she 
wept  like  a  child.) 

"  Intrude !  my  dear  lady.  This  is  no  intru- 
sion.    I  am  glad  to  see  you.     I  thank  you,  with 


80  WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT. 

all  my  heart,  for  coming  to  me.  I  beg  you  to  do 
me  the  justice  to  believe  it,  and  feel  yourself  per- 
fectly at  ease.  Ask  me  anything,  or  tell  me  any- 
thing you  will,  with  entire  freedom.  I  will  not 
abuse  your  confidence." 

She  stood  before  me,  trembling  and  weeping,  as 
if  her  heart  would  break.  And  as  she  aimed  to 
repress  her  emotions,  and  removed  her  handker- 
chief from  her  eyes,  the  light  of  the  hall-lamp 
shone  full  upon  her  face,  and  I  was  surprised  at 
the  deep  solemnity  and  determination,  which  ap- 
peared in  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  beautiful 
countenances,  that  I  ever  beheld. 

At  this  instant  the  lady  of  the  house,  perceiv- 
ing the  nature  of  our  conversation,  invited  us  into 
a  private  room.  My  new  acquaintance  told  me 
who  she  was,  and  repeated  the  cause  of  her  call- 
ing upon  me.  I  asked  her  some  questions,  and 
conversed  with  her  for  some  minutes,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  ascertaining  more  exactly  the  state  of  her 
mind,  and  adapting  my  words  accordingly.  Her 
intelligence  and  the  elegance  of  her  language  sur- 
prised me.  She  was  in  middle  life,  a  married 
woman,  having  a  husband  still  living,  and  two 
small  children.  Her  husband  was  not  a  pious 
man  ;  and  her  thoughts  about  her  own  salvation 
had  led  her  to  think  much  of  his,  and  of  the  duty 
she  owed  to  her  children.  Her  first  serious  im- 
pressions arose  from  the  thought,  that,  not  being  a 


WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT.  81 

member  of  the  church,  she  could  not  dedicate  her 
children  to  Grod  in  the  ordinance  of  baptism  ;  and 
this  led  her  to  think,  that  in  her  unbelief  she 
could  not  fitly  train  them  up  in  the  nurture  and 
admonition  of  the  Lord. 

"  Oh!  sir,"  said  she  ;  (the  tears  streaming  from 
her  eyes,  and  her  sensations  almost  choking  utter- 
ance ;)  "  I  would  give  all  the  world,  to  be  a  Chris- 
tian !  I  know  I  am  a  sinner,  an  undone  sinner ! 
I  have  a  vile  and  wicked  heart.  I  have  sinned  all 
my  life  !     I  wonder  (rod  has  spared  me  so  long!" 

"  But  he  has  spared  you,  Madam  ;  when  you 
did  not  deserve  it.  Anr1  what  has  he  spared  you 
for,  but  that  you  should  repent  of  sin  and  flee  to 
Christ  for  pardon  ?" 

"  I  would  repent,  if  I  could.  I  want  to  be  a 
Christian.  But  my  hard,  wicked  heart  is  stronger 
than  I !  For  years  I  have  read  my  Bible,  and 
struggled  and  prayed;  and  it  has  done  me  no 
good !  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  cast  off  forever ! 
Grod  has  not  given  me  his  Spirit !" 

"  I  too  am  afraid  you  will  be  cast  off  forever  ! 
Probably  your  danger  is  greater,  than  you  think  ! 
But  there  is  mercy  in  Christ  for  the  chief  of  sin- 
ners.    His  blood  cleanseth  from — " 

"  I  know  it,  sir ;  I  know  all  that,  from  my  Bi- 
ble. I  have  read  it  a  thousand  times.  But  I  can- 
not come  to  Christ  without  the  Holy  Spirit." 

"  Madam,  the  text  is  plain,  '  if  ye  being  evil 


82  WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT. 

know  how  to  give  good  gifts  to  your  children,  how 
much  more  will  your  heavenly  Father  give  the 
Holy  Spirit  to—" 

"  But  I  am  not  one  of  his  children,  sir." 

"  The  text  does  not  say,  to  his  children,  my 
dear  Madam ;  it  says,  ■  to  them  that  ask  him? 
6  Ask  and  ye  shall  receive.'  " 

"  Oh  !   I  have  prayed — I  do  pray." 

"  Allow  me  to  ask  you,  Madam,  how  long  you 
have  been  in  this  state  of  mind  ?" 

"  About  three  years.  I  was  first  brought  to 
think  of  my  salvation,  soon  after  the  birth  of  my 
first  child ;  when  my  duty  to  my  family  led  me  to 
feel  the  need  of  religion.  I  could  not  have  it  bap- 
tized, for  I  was  not  a  member  of  the  church  ;  and 
what  troubled  me  more,  I  could  not  do  my  duty 
to  it,  for  I  was  not  a  child  of  God." 

"  And  have  you  been  accustomed,  for  so  long  a 
time,  to  read  your  Bible  carefully?" 

"Oh!  I  have  cead  it  all,  again  and  again!  I 
read  it  daily.  I  have  prayed  and  wept  over  this 
subject,  for  long  years  !  and  have  waited  for  the 
Holy  Spirit  to  renew  my  heart." 

"  And  have  you  been  waiting  for  the  Holy 
Spirit  for  three  years,  in  this  state  of  mind  ?" 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  have." 

"  Then,  for  three  years,  you  have  been  waiting 
for  what  God  gave  you  three  years  ago.  It  was 
the  Holy  Spirit,  which  first  led   you   to  feel  you 


WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT.  83 

were  a  sinner  and  needed  Christ.  The  Holy 
Spirit  has  been  striving  with  you  all  along,  and 
you  did  not  know  it.  He  led  you  to  the  Bible, 
He  led  you  to  prayer.  He  sent  you  here  to-night. 
He  strives  with  you  now,  to  lead  you  to  Christ  for 
forgiveness  and  peace." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  she  with  astonish- 
ment. 

"  I  know  so,"  said  I.  "  Grod  has  been  better  to 
you,  than  you  have  thought.  He  has  done  what 
you  have  never  given  him  credit  for.  He  has 
called,  and  you  have  refused.  He  has  invited, 
and  you  have  held  back.  You  thought  you  must 
not  come,  and  could  not.  You  may,  on  the  spot. 
The  Holy  Spirit  has  not  left  you  yet.  I  wonder 
that  he  has  not ;  but  you  have  another  call  to- 
night. And  now,  Madam ;  accept  his  invitation  ; 
repent ;  take  Christ  as  your  Saviour.  Go  home 
and  give  your  heart  to  Grod,  just  as  it  is.  You 
cannot  make  it  better.  The  Holy  Spirit  is  with 
you.  Do  not  resist  him  any  longer.  You  have 
stayed  away  from  Christ,  because  you  supposed 
you  must.  You  wanted  the  Holy  Spirit  first ;  and 
thought  you  must  not  come  to  Christ,  till  your 
heart  was  better.  The  dispensation  of  the  Spirit 
is  in  his  hands.  Gro  to  the  fountain.  The  Bible 
nowhere  tells  you  to  wait  for  the  Holy  Spirit ;  but, 
fleeing  to  Christ,  to  depend  on  his  aid  now.''1 

"  Pardon  me,  sir;  I  must  ask  y)u  again,  if  you 


84  WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT. 


really   think,    the    Holy    Spirit   is    striving    with 


me 


?" 


"  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  I  know  he  is.  He  has 
been  for  years.  He  offers  you  his  aid.  He  calls 
you  to  Christ  now.  Gro  to  Christ.  Repent  to- 
night. Accept  and  rest  on  Christ  now.  The  Holy 
Grhost  saith,  i  To-day,  if  ye  will  hear  his  voice, 
harden  not  your  heart.'  " 

"  And  is  that  all  you  have  to  say  to  me,  about 
the  Holy  Spirit  ?" 

"Yes,  that  is  all.  The  Holy  Spirit  this  mo- 
ment strives  with  you.  Grod  is  willing  to  save 
you.  Nothing  but  your  own  unbelief  and  impen- 
itence can  ruin  you." 

"  Has  the  Spirit  been  striving  with  me  ? — and  I 
did  not  know  it  ?"  (said  she,  in  the  manner  of 
meditation,  the  tears  streaming  from  her  eyes.) — 
She  left  me,  and  returned  to  her  home. 

Early  the  next  morning,  before  the  sun  rose,  as 
I  looked  from  my  window,  I  beheld  her  coming 
through  the  thick  dew  which  lay  upon  the  grass, 
with  hasty  steps  ascending  the  hill,  on  which  the 
house  where  I  lodged  was  situated.  She  asked 
for  me  at  the  door,  and  I  immediately  met  her  in 
the  parlor. 

"  I  thank  you  my  dear  friend,  I  thank  you  a 
thousand  times  for  telling  me  that  ;v  (said  she, 
the  moment  she  saw  me  ;  her  eyes  streaming  with 
tears    and    her    countenance   beaming   with   joy.) 


WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT.  85 

u  It  was  all  true.  I  have  found  it  true.  I  can  re- 
joice in  Christ  now.  I  am  happy,  sir,  oh,  I  am 
happy.  I  thought  I  must  come  and  thank  you.  I 
am  afraid  you  will  think  me  rude,  in  calling  upon 
you  at  such  an  hour.  But  I  was  afraid  you 
would  be  gone,  if  I  delayed ;  and  I  could  not  let 
you  leave  town  without  telling  you  how  happy  I 
am,  and  how  much  I  thank  you.  After  I  heard 
you  preach,  three  months  since,  I  thought  you 
could  tell  me  something  about  obtaining  the  gift 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  when  I  asked  you  about  it 
last  night,  I  was  very  much  disappointed  by  what 
you  said.  I  was  amazed  and  confounded.  You 
did  not  say  what  I  expected.  But  I  believed  you. 
I  spent  the  night  over  this  subject.  Happy  night 
for  me !  And  now,  I  know  you  told  me  the  truth. 
You  read  my  heart  rightly.  I  bless  (rod  for  what 
I  have  found.  Pardon  me,  sir  ;  I  must  ask  you,  to 
tell  other  sinners,  that  Christ  is  waiting-  for  them. 
They  do  not  know  it,  I  am  sure,  any  more  than  I 
did ;  or  they  would  go  to  him.  The  Holy  Spirit 
calls  us  to  do  so.  With  all  my  glad  heart,  I  yield 
to  him.  I  do  not  wait  any  longer.  I  bless  you 
for  telling  me,  I  need  not  wait." 

Weeping  for  joy,  she  continued  to  talk  to  me  in 
this  manner,  for  some  minutes. 

I  have  not  seen  her  since.  But  I  have 
learned,  that  she  publicly  professed  her  faith,  and 


86  WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT. 

has  lived  for  years,  as  a  reputable  and  happy  be- 
liever. 


Probably  the  influences  of  the  Holy  Spirit  are 
more  common  with  impenitent  sinners,  than  they 
suppose.  Such  persons  greatly  err,  when,  instead 
of  fleeing  at  once  to  Christ ;  they  wait,  and  think 
they  must  wait,  for  some  attainment  first.  Their 
waiting  for  it,  is  but  a  deceptive  excuse  ;  and  if 
they  suppose  they  have  gained  any  attainment 
and  on  that  ground  Christ  has  accepted  them  ; 
their  religion  is  only  self-righteousness  and  de- 
lusion. A  broken  heart  is  invited  to  the  balm  of 
(xilead.  "  Tell  other  sinners  that  Christ  is  wait- 
ing for  them." 

The  subtlety  of  the  adversary  is  wonderful. 
The  want  of  the  Holy  Spirit  was  this  woman's  ob- 
stacle. The  devil  had  led  her  to  believe,  that  she 
was  forsaken  of  the  Spirit;  and  if  she  was,  she 
knew  from  the  Bible,  that  there  was  no  other  help 
for  her.  Instead  of  going  to  Christ,  therefore,  in 
faith;  she  miserably  supposed,  that  she  must 
wait.  She  did  not  know,  that  the  very  urgency 
and  influence  of  the  Holy  Spirit  consist  in  bringing 
sinners  to  embrace  Jesus  Christ,  as  he  is  offered  to 
us  in  the  gospel.  The  very  thing  that  Grod  want- 
ed her  to  do,  was  the  very  thing  that  she  supposed 


WAITING     FOR     THE     HOLY     SPIRIT.  87 

she  must  not  do ;  and  thus  she  was  compelled  to 
wait  in  darkness  and  fear,  by  a  subtle  device  of 
the  adversary. — It  is  important  for  convicted  sin- 
ners to  know,  that  the  cause  of  their  irreligion  is 
not,  that  Christ  is  not  willing  to  receive  them,  but 
that  they  are  not  willing  to  trust  in  him. 


BUSINESS    HINDRANCE. 


A  member  of  my  congregation,  a  young  man 
who  was  an  apprentice,  became  attentive  to  the 
subject  of  religion  ;  and  finally,  his  convictions  be- 
came very  distressing.  I  had  many  conversations 
with  him.  it  all  appeared  to  be  in  vain.  He  con- 
tinued in  his  distress,  without  hope,  and  almost  in 
despair. 

One  day  he  said  to  me,  that  he  believed,  he 
never  should  obtain  religion,  if  he  did  not  quit 
work,  and  devote  his  whole  time  and  thought  to 
the  subject  of  his  salvation.  I  told  him,  that  that 
would  do  him  no  good — that  his  duty  was  to  work 
— that  if  he  would  not  work,  he  ought  not  to  eat 
— that  neglecting  an  earthly  duty  would  not  lead 
him  to  the  discharge  of  a  spiritual  one.  I  argued 
the  case  with  him  strenuously  on  the  ground  of 
the  scriptures,  "  six  days  shalt  thou  labor."  I  in- 
sisted upon  it,  that  the  Bible  gave  no  such  direc- 
tions about  work,  as  he  was  inclined  to  follow- 


BUSINESS      HINDRANCE.  8 

that  if  he  expected  to  do  his  duty  to  God,  he  must 
not  omit  doing  his  duty  to  the  world — that,  at 
most,  he  ought  not  to  do  without  working,  any 
longer  than  he  could  do  without  eating, — for,  "  if 
any  would  not  work  neither  should  he  eat" — and 
that  this  want  of  time  was  only  an  excuse  of  a 
deceitful  heart,  to  keep  him  from  an  instant  duty, 
that  is,  fleeing  to  Christ  in  faith. 

But  I  could  not  convince  him.  He  said  his 
mind  was  drawn  off  from  religion,  by  his  daily  em- 
ployment ;  and  in  his  opinion,  if  he  had  nothing  to 
do,  but  to  seek  Grod,  to  read  and  pray,  he  should 
soon  find  salvation.  I  told  him  he  would  be  more 
likely  to  find  a  delusion,  and  call  it  salvation. 
But  I  could  not  shake  him  from  his  purpose. 

He  did  quit  work.  He  went  away  over  the 
river,  beyond  the  reach  of  his  companions,  got  a 
room  alone  in  an  obscure  house,  and  shut  himself 
up  with  his  Bible.  He  remained  there  a  week. 
At  the  end  of  that  time,  he  called  himself  to  an 
account,  examining  his  heart,  whether  he  had 
made  any  progress.  It  seemed  to  him,  that  he 
had  made  none  at  all.  He  then  determined  to 
be  more  diligent  in  the  study  of  his  Bible,  more 
anxious  in  prayer,  and  to  compel  his  obstinate 
heart  to  yield.  He  often  attended  our  religious 
meetings  in  the  evenings,  and  then  would  return 
to  his  solitude.  He  remained  there  three  weeks. 
And  to  his  utter  astonishment,  he  found  his  re 

8* 


90 


BUSINESS     HINDRANCE. 


ligious  impressions  almost  entirely  gone.  He 
abandoned  his  retirement  and  came  back  to  his 
work  in  self-defence.  "  I  found,"  said  he,  "  my 
own  heart  was  the  worst  companion  I  could  have. 
If  I  cannot  come  to  repentance  in  the  work-shop, 
I  am  sure  I  never  can  alone.  If  I  had  stayed 
there  much  longer,  I  should  have  cared  nothing 
about  religion." 

He  went  to  work.  His  seriousness  returned. 
And  in  about  four  weeks,  he  entertained  a  hope  in 
Christ.  He  united  with  the  church,  and  I  knew 
him  for  years  afterwards.  He  appeared  to  be  a 
decided  and  happy  Christian. 


The  human  heart  will  weave  an  excuse  for  im- 
penitence, out  of  anything.  This  want  of  time  is 
a  very  common  excuse.  But  it  is  a  falsehood. 
The  advice  given  to  anxious  inquirers  so  frequently 
in  times  of  revival,  to  shut  themselves  up  alone 
till  they  have  found  salvation,  just  misleads  them. 
It  makes  them  think  they  lack  time  for  religion ; 
while,  in  fact,  they  only  lack  heart.  Let  us  obey 
the  Bible. 


WAITING  FOR  CONVICTION. 


There  was  a  young  woman  in  my  congregation 
at  one  time,  about  whom  I  felt  no  little  interest, 
and  had  for  a  long  time  sought  an  opportunity 
to  speak  with  her  alone,  on  the  subject  of  religion 
I  had  spoken  to  her  more  than  once,  sometimes  in 
the  presence  of  her  mother,  and  sometimes  before 
some  other  member  of  the  family.  But  she  was 
very  reserved.  She  seemed  entirely  disinclined  to 
any  conversation  on  the  subject.  Her  taciturnity 
was  so  constant,  that  I  could  only  ask  questions, 
and  she  answered  only  in  monosyllables,  or  not  at 
all.  I  had  some  acquaintance  with  her,  as  a 
neighbor  and  friend,  but  little  as  a  minister.  She 
appeared  to  me  to  possess  more  than  an  ordinary 
share  of  intellect  and  amiability.  I  had  often 
noticed  that  she  gave  strict  attention  to  my  ser- 
mons. But,  thougk  many  others,  some  among 
her   acquaintance,  and  some  in  her  own  family 


92  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

had  then  recently  become,  (as  we  hoped,)  the  chil- 
dren of  Grod  ;  yet  she  never  manifested  any  special 
concern.  When  I  thought  of  her  good  sense,  her 
candor,  her  kindness  of  feeling,  and  her  sobriety, 
I  was  surprised  that  she  did  not  seek  Grod.  She 
was  now  passing  by  the  first  years  of  her  youth, 
and  it  pained  me  to  think  that  they  were  gone, 
and  that  she  was  now  entering  the  years  of  her 
womanhood,  a  stranger  to  Christ.  I  resolved  to 
see  her  in  private,  and  aim  to  overcome  that  obsti- 
nate taciturnity,  which  I  despaired  of  overcoming 
in  the  presence  of  any  other  person,  and  which,  as 
I  supposed,  hindered  me  from  perceiving  the  real 
state  of  her  mind,  and  knowing  what  to  say  to  her. 

I  called  at  her  house  and  asked  for  her.  But, 
as  she  and  her  mother,  both  at  the  same  time,  en- 
tered the  room  where  I  was,  I  was  obliged  to  say 
to  her  mother,  that  I  desired  to  see  her  daughter 
alone,  if  she  would  be  so  kind  as  to  grant  me  that 
privilege.  "  Oh,  certainly"  said  she,  and  left  the 
room,  manifestly  disconcerted,  if  not  displeased. 

I  immediately  said  to  the  daughter,  "  I  am  al- 
ways happy  to  see  your  mother  ;  but  I  called  this 
morning  on  purpose  to  see  you  alone." 

"  I  knew  you  asked  for  me,"  said  she ;  "  but 
mother  would  come  in ;  she  always  will,  when 
you  ask  for  me.  I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  she 
always  seems  to  be  unwilling* to  have  you  see  me 
alone." 


WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION.  93 

"  And  did  you  wish  to  see  me  alone  ?" 

"  Not  particularly  ;  but  mother  and  I  are  such 
great  talkers,  that  you  will  find  one  of  us  at  a 
time  quite  enough." 

"  Do  you  call  yourself  a  great  talker  ?"  said  I. 

"  Oh  yes,  they  say  I  am  ;  and  I  suppose  it  is 
true." 

"  Well,  will  you  talk  with  me  ?  I  ha^e  caiied 
en  purpose  to  talk  with  you  on  the  subject  of 
your  religion,  if  you  will  allow  me  that  priv- 
ilege." 

She  was  mute.  She  cast  her  eyes  downwards, 
and  seemed  confused. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  consider  me  intrusive," 
said  I,  "or  impertinent ;  but  I  have  long  felt  a 
deep  interest  in  you,  and  have  desired  an  opportu- 
nity to  converse  with  you  freely  and  confidentially 
about  your  religious  duty." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  you  ever  thought  of 
me." 

"  Then  certainly  I  have  need  to  beg  your  >ar- 
don,"  said  I.  "  I  must  have  treated  you  very  '.m- 
politely  if  you  did  not  know  that  I  ever  thought 
of  you." 

11  Oh,  no,  sir ;  you  have  never  treated  me  im- 
politely." 

"  And  certainly  I  never  will.  But  permit  me 
to  ask  you,  are  you  willing  to  converse  with  me 
about  your  own  religion  *" 


94  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

11 1  have  got  no  religion,"  said  she;  with  a 
downcast  and  solemn  look. 

"  And  do  you  mean  always  to  live  without  it  ? 
and  die  without  it  ?" 

She  made  me  no  answer.  I  paused  for  an  an- 
swer, as  long  as  I  thought  I  could,  without  em- 
barrassing her  feelings ;  but  no  answer  came.  I 
continued  : — 

"  You  say  you  have  got  no  religion.  Would  it 
not  be  wise  and  well  for  you  to  attend  to  that  sub- 
ject ;  and  aim  to  attain  a  religion,  that  will  secure 
to  you  the  favor  of  Grod  and  everlasting  life  ?" 

She  made  me  no  answer.  After  another  pause, 
I  said  :  "  You  think  of  this  subject  I  suppose, 
sometimes  ?" 

She  made  no  reply. 

"  Are  you  unwilling  to  think  of  it  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  Are  you  unwilling  to  have  me  speak  to  you 
about  it  ?" 

No  answer. 

"Perhaps  this  time  is  not  agreeable  to  you. 
"Would  you  prefer  to  have  me  call  at  some  other 
time  ?" 

No  answer. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  I  earnestly ;  "I  did  not 
come  here  to  embarrass  you,  or  annoy  you  in  any 
manner.  I  love  you,  and  wish  to  do  you  good. 
But  if  you  prefer  it,  I  will  leave  you,  at  once.     I 


WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION.  95 

will  not  intrude  myself  upon  you,  or  intrude  upon 
your  attention  a  subject,  to  which  you  do  not  wish 
to  lend  your  mind." 

"  Why  sir,"  said  she,   "  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Why,  then,  will  you  not  talk  with  me  ?" 

"Indeed,  sir,  I  do  not  know  what  to  say." 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  girl;  I  do  not  wish  to 
embarrass  you,  or  blame  you  ;  but  certainly  yon 
could  answer  me  some  of  the  questions  I  have 
asked.  And  now  allow  me  to  ask  you  again ;  do 
you  think  much  on  the  subject  of  religion  ?  or 
have  you  any  concern  about  it  ?" 

She  made  me  no  answer. — After  a  painful,  but 
brief  pause,  I  continued  : — 

"  I  beg  you  to  speak  to  me.  Say  anything  you 
think  or  feel.  I  assure  you  I  have  no  feelings 
towards  you,  but  those  of  kindness  and  respect.  I 
will  treat  you  politely  and  kindly.  But,  my  child, 
your  silence  embarrasses  me.  I  am  afraid  to  say 
another  word,  lest  I  should  hurt  your  feelings. 
You  might  deem  another  question  an  imper- 
tinence." 

"You  may  ask  me,"  said  she,  with  a  forced 
smile. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  are  you  giving  any  serious 
cr  prayerful  attention  to  religion  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  not  at  present." 

"  I  thank  you  fur  the  answer.  But  let  me 
ask ;    do   you    not   think  that  you  ought    to   at- 


96  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

tend  to  it,  earnestly,  and  prayerfully,  and  without 
delay  ?" 

She  did  not  answer,  but  appeared  quite  con- 
fused. The  blood  mounted  to  her  cheeks.  T 
pitied  her. 

"  Believe  me,"  said  I,  "  I  do  not  mean  to  con- 
fuse you  ;  but  why  do  you  not  speak  to  me,  and 
tell  me  your  feelings  plainly  and  freely  ?  And  I 
will  hold  all  that  you  say,  as  confidential  as  you 
please  to  make  it." 

(i  "Well,  sir,  I  will.  But  I  know  you  will  not 
like  it." 

"  No  matter  for  that,"  said  I. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  oppose  you;  but  /do  not 
think  it  would  do  any  good  for  me  to  attend  to  re- 
ligion, with  my  present  feelings." 

"  Pray,  what  do  you  mean  ?  I  do  not  under- 
stand you." 

"  I  mean,"  said  she,  "  that  I  have  no  particular 
anxiety  about  religion ;  and  I  do  not  believe  it 
would  do  any  good  for  me  to  attend  to  religion,  till 
I  have  some  greater  anxiety  about  it." 

"  And  are  you  waiting  for  such  an  anxiety  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  am." 

"Do  you  expect  to  get  it  by  waiting?  Do 
you  think  it  will  ever  come  to  you  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  indeed,"  said  she,  very  sadly. — 
"  I  used  to  hope  so  ;  but  I  have  waited  for  it  a 
long  time." 


WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION.  97 

"  Does  the  Bible  tell  you  to  wait  for  it?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  as  it  tells  me  to  wait.  But  it 
speaks  of  conviction,  of  broken  and  contrite 
hearts ;  and  Christian  people  speak  of  awaken- 
ings, alarms,  and  distresses  of  mind,  and  in- 
fluences of  the  Holy  Spirit,  with  those  who  are 
led  to  religion.  And  you  preach  such  things  ;  as 
if  these  were  the  beginning.  And  if  I  have  none 
of  these,  how  can  I  begin  to  seek  (rod  ?" 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  me  preach,  that  one  should 
wait  for  these"?" 

"  Yes." 

"  No,  never  !  my  child." 

u  Yes  I  have,  I  am  sure." 

"  Never,  never  !     I  preach  nothing  like  it." 

"  I  remember  your  text,  sir ;  and  you  always 
preach  the  text :  l  On  thee  do  I  wait  all  the 
day.' " 

"  Yes  ;  and  in  that  sermon  I  told  you,  that 
waiting  on  God  was  one  thing,  and  waiting  for 
God  was  quite  another.  The  first  was  right,  and 
the  last  was  wrong.  We  wait  on  him  by  such 
things  as  prayer.     Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  you  did." 

"  And  do  you  pray  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  you  do  not  obey  my  sermon,  and  wait 
on  God." 

"  How  can  I,  with  no  conviction  ?" 


98  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  get  conviction  ?" 

•'  I  do  not  know." 

"  Do  you  know  and  feel,  that  you  are  a  sinner 
against  God,  and  not  reconciled  to  him  ?" 

•<  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Do  you  know,  that  you  cannot  save  yourself, 
and  need  Jesus  Christ  to  save  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it ;"  (said  she,  with  a  very  signifi- 
cant accent  upon  the  word,  know.) 

"  Then  you  have  some  conviction." 

"  You  may  call  it  conviction,  if  you  will ;  but  I 
have  no  deep  impressions." 

"  And  are  you  just  waiting  for  such  impressions, 
before  you  will  do  anything  ;  and  when  they  come, 
you  mean  to  seek  Grod  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Then,  you  may  wait  forever  /" 

"  Oh !  I  hope  not !" 

"  Probably  you  will !  Such  deeper  impressions 
seldom  come,  by  waiting  for  them.  How  long 
have  you  been  waiting  for  them  already  ?" 

"  About  five  years,  sir." 

"  And  have  you  gained  anything,  in  those  five 
years — any  deeper  impressions  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  as  I  have." 

"  Will  you  gain  anything,  by  waiting  five  years 
more  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  not;"   (said  she,  sadly.) 
And  I  am  afraid   not,"  said  I      "  You  may 


t< 


WAITING      FOR     CONVICTION.  99 

wait  on,  till  you  have  just  waited  into  the  grave, 
and  your  waiting  will  do  you  no  good  /" 

"  "What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  '  Seek  ye  the  Lord  while  he  may  be  found. 
Call  ye  upon  him  while  he  is  near.'  " 

"  What !  with  my  present  impressions  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  with  just  your  present  impressions." 

"  I  do  not  believe,  it  will  do  any  good." 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  five  years'  waiting  has 
done  you  no  good ;  and  you  have  no  reason  to 
think,  that  five  more  would  do  you  any.  You 
have  tried  waiting ;  and  now  I  want  you  to  try 
seeking,  as  the  Bible  bids  you." 

"  I  would  seek  the  Lord  ;  if  I  thought  it  was 
possible,  with  my  present  feelings." 

"  It  is  possible.  I  am  confident  you  would  not 
seek  in  vain.  I  know  you  are  deceived.  I  know  you 
are  acting  contrary  to  the  commands  of  the  gospel. 
I  know  you  are  putting  your  own  wisdom  in  the 
place  of  Grod's  wisdom,  which  calls  you  to  seek  the 
Lord,  now,  to-day.  But  you  are  waiting  for  convic- 
tion. 

"  Now  I  beg  you  to  hear  me,  and  treasure  up 
what  I  say.  I  have  several  things  to  say  to  you. 
"Will  you  hear  me  ?" 

"  Most  willingly,  sir." 

"  Then,  1.  Remember,  that  (rod  never  tells  you 
to  wait  for  convictions,  or  anything  else.    He  tells 


100  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

you,   '  Behold  now  is   the    accepted   time,  behold 
now  is  the  day  of  salvation.' 

"2.  You  have  no  occasion  to  wait  for  any  deep- 
er impressions.  In  my  opinion,  you  do  not  need 
them.  You  have  impressions  deep  enough.  How 
deep  impressions  does  a  sinner  need  ?  What  does 
he  need  to  know  and  feel,  in  order  to  be  prepared 
to  come  to  Christ  ?  I  will  tell  you :  he  needs  to 
know,  that  he  is  a  sinner — that  he  cannot  save 
himself — that  he  needs  Christ  to  save  him.  That 
is  all — and  you  have  all  that,  already. 

"  3.  Deeper  impressions  never  yet  came  by  wait- 
ing for  them,  without  prayer  and  without  attempt- 
ing to  flee  to  Christ — and  they  never  will. 

"  4.  Your  duty  is  to  turn  from  sin  and  the  world 
to  Christ,  at  once,  to-day. 

"  5.  If,  after  all,  you  do  need  any  deeper  im- 
pressions, I  will  tell  you  how  you  may  get  them, 
and  you  will  get  .them  in  no  other  way  :  you  will 
get  them  just  when  you  aim  to  do  as  Grod  bids 
you,  to  repent,  to  flee  to  Christ,  to  give  Grod  your 
heart.  At  present  you  are  excusing  yourself  from 
all  this,  by  the  false  notion,  that  you  have  not  im- 
pressions enough  to  be  able  to  do  so.  You  do  not, 
this  moment,  feel  condemned  for  neglecting  the 
great  salvation ;  because  you  think  you  cannot  at- 
tain it  till  you  have  deeper  convictions.  This  is 
your  excuse.  And  it  is  all  a  deception,  in  my 
opinion.     But  if  you   do  need  more  deep  convic- 


WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION.  101 

tions,  you  will  get  them  when  you  aim  to  come  to 
Christ.  Then  you  will  find  you  have  no  heart  to 
do  it,  no  will  to  do  it,  no  readiness  to  deny  your- 
self, and  renounce  the  world,  and  then  you  will 
begin  to  see  what  an  undone  and  helpless  sinner 
you  are,  and  how  much  you  have  need  to  pray  for 
Grod's  help,  as  you  are  not  doing  now.  This  is 
the  way  to  gain  deeper  impressions,  if  you  need 
them, — and  the  only  way.  Five  years  more  of 
waiting,  or  fifty  years,  will  not  give  them  to  you. 
— This  is  all  I  have  to  say." 

I  left  her. — About  three  days  after  this  I  called 
on  her  again,  and  found  her  in  a  very  solemn  and 
sad  state  of  mind.  She  said,  that  on  thinking  of 
what  I  had  told  her,  she  believed  every  word  of  it, 
and  tried,  with  all  her  might,  to  do  as  I  had  ex- 
horted her.  She  read  her  Bible,  and  prayed,  and 
the  more  she  tried  to  give  up  the  world,  and  give 
Grod  her  heart,  the  more  she  found  that  her  heart 
would  not  yield.  She  said  she  "  could  do  nothing 
with  it, — she  did  not  believe  there  ever  was  such 
a  heart,  so  opposed  to  Grod, — she  never  knew  be- 
fore what  a  sinner  she  was, — she  did  not  believe 
there  was  any  possibility  of  her  ever  turning  to  Grod." 
"  Jesus  Christ,"  said  I,  "  is  able  to  save  you." 
She  replied,  "  I  suppose  he  is  ;  but  I  do  not 
think  he  ever  will !" — As  she  said  this  she  appear- 
ed deeply  solemn,  and  was  overcome  with  her 
emotions,  which  choked  her  utterance. 

9* 


102  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

"  Jesus  Christ,"  said  I,  "  is  more  than  able  to 
save  you — he  is  willing." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  upon  me,  with  a  despairing 
look  :  "I  wish  I  knew  that  he  is  willing." 

"  You  do  know  it,"  said  I.  "  His  word  tells 
you  so.  '  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and 
are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.  Take 
my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me,  and  ye  shall 
find  rest  for  your  souls.  If  any  man  thirst,  let 
him  come  unto  me  and  drink.  "Whosoever  will, 
let  him  take  the  water  of  life  freely.  Ho  !  every 
one  that  thirsteth  ;  come  ye  to  the  waters.  Let 
the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and  the  unrighteous 
man  his  thoughts,  and  let  him  return  unto  the 
Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  to 
our  (rod,  for  he  will  abundantly  pardon.'  " 

"  Oh !"  said  she,  "  I  will  try  to  seek  God." 

I  instantly  left  her. 

Not  long  after,  (a  few  days,)  I  called  upon  her, 
and  found  she  was  calm,  and  happy  in  hope. 
She  said  that  all  her  trust  was  in  Christ,  and  that 
the  forbearance  and  love  of  G-od  appeared  to  her 
most  wonderful.  She  thanked  me  for  what  I  had 
said  to  her.  "  You  opened  my  eyes,"  said  she. 
"  When  you  came  here  that  morning  I  did  not  in- 
tend to  talk  with  you  ;  and  when  you  began  to 
ask  me,  I  was  resolved  not  to  tell  you  how  I  felt. 
And  if  you  had  not  made  me  tell,  and  had  not  al- 
most forced  me  to  attend  to  religion  now,  I  should 


WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION.  103 

have  waited  for  deeper  convictions  all  my  life 
But,  sir,  I  think  you  were  wrong,  when  you  told 
me  I  did  not  need  any  deeper  convictions.  At 
that  time  I  knew  almost  nothing  of  my  heart.  I 
never  found  out  how  much  it  was  opposed  to  Grod 
and  his  demands,  till  some  time  afterwards,  when 
I  resolved  that  I  would  become  a  Christian  that 
very  day." 

"  And  did  your  resolve  bring  you  to  Christ  ?" 
"  Oh  no !  not  at  all.  It  did  me  no  good.  My 
heart  would  not  yield.  I  was  opposed  to  Grod, 
and  found  I  was  such  a  sinner,  that  I  could  do 
nothing  for  myself.  My  resolutions  did  me  no 
good ;  and  I  gave  up  all,  and  just  cried  for  mercy. 
Awhile  after  that,  I  began  to  be  at  peace.  I  do 
not  know  how  it  is,  but  2"  have  done  nothing  for 
myself.  Indeed,  when  I  cried  so  for  mercy,  I  had 
given  up  trying1  to  do  anything.  It  seems  to  me, 
that  when  I  gave  up  trying,  and  cried  to  Grod  ;  he 
did  everything  for  me." 

Some  months  after  this,  she  united  with  the 
church,  and  has  lived  in  its  communion  ever  since, 
a  useful  and  decided  Christian. 


There  are  multitudes  in  our  congregations,  who 
are  just  waiting,  while  they  ought  to  be  acting — 
who  have  a  sort  of  indefinite  hope  about  the  aids 


104  WAITING     FOR     CONVICTION. 

of  the  Holy  Spirit,  yet  to  be  experienced  ;  while 
they  are  pursuing  the  very  course  to  fail  of  attain- 
ing any  such  aids.  They  think  they  must  wait. 
They  think  wrong.  They  must  work,  if  they 
would  have  Grod  work  in  them.  There  can  be  no 
religion  without  obedience.  And  there  is  not 
likely  to  be,  with  any  sinner,  a  just  sense  of  his 
dependence,  till  he  earnestly  intends  and  attempts 
to  obey  the  gospel.  Religion  is  practical.  Much 
of  its  light  comes  by  practical  attempts.  "If  ye 
will  do  the  works,  ye  shall  know  of  the  doctrine 
whether  it  be  of  Grod." 

Probably  this  young  woman  would  have  been 
led  to  her  Saviour,  five  years  before  ;  had  it  not 
been  for  her  error,  about  waiting  for  deeper  im- 
pressions. 


NOT   DISCOURAGED. 


A  young  woman  of  very  yielding  and  amiable 
disposition,  who  belonged  to  my  congregation,  be- 
came alarmed  about  her  condition,  as  a  sinner ; 
and  set  herself  to  seek  the  Lord.  I  visited  her, 
and  conversed  with  her,  repeatedly.  Her  serious- 
ness became  more  and  more  deep.  I  left  her,  one 
day,  with  a  very  strong  expectation  upon  my 
mind,  that  the  next  time  I  should  see  her,  she 
would  be  at  peace  with  Grod.  I  thought  so,  be- 
cause she  seemed  to  realize,  that  (rod's  law  justly 
condemned  her,  as  a  sinner ;  that  she  was  depend- 
ent upon  sovereign  grace ;  and  that  she  ought  to 
repent  and  flee  to  Christ.  I  thought  so  also  ;  be- 
cause she  appeared  to  me  just  as  others,  with 
whom  I  was  conversing  every  day,  had  appeared, 
immediately  before  their  hopeful  conversion  to 
Christ.  She  seemed  to  me  to  know  and  feel  the 
truths  of  the  gospel,  which  are  addressed  to  uncon- 
verted sinners ;  and  therefore,  I  believed  the  Holy 


106  NOT      DISCOURAGED. 

Spirit  was  with  her  to  lead  her  to  salvation.  I  left 
her  with  the  urgency  of  the  text,  "  behold  now  is 
the  accepted  time,"  pressed  upon  her  conscience 
and  her  heart,  with  all  the  emphasis  my  words 
could  give  it. 

The  next  time  I  saw  her,  a  day  or  two  after- 
wards, her  whole  appearance  was  altered.  Her 
solemnity  was  gone.  Her  anxieties  were  evi- 
dently diminished.  She  met  me  with  a  smile  that 
surprised  and  pained  me.  And,  directly  the  con- 
trary to  her  former  habit ;  she  began  to .  speak  of 
some  common  matter.     Said  I : 

"  Have  you  given  Christ  your  heart,  Mary  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  not  yet,"  said  she  ;  "  but  I  don't  feel  so 
bad  as  I  did." 

"  Why  not  ?"  said  I.  "  What  reason  have  you 
to  feel  any  better  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  as  you  would  think  I  have  any 
reason ;  but  I  hope  I  shall  be  a  Christian,  by  and 
by.  I  don't  feel  in  so  much  haste  as  I  did  ;  and  I 
am  not  so  much  afraid  (rod  will  cast  me  off ;  and 
the  sinfulness  of  my  heart  does  not  trouble  me  so 
much." 

"  My  dear  Mary !"  said  I,  with  astonishment 
and  pain,  "how  is  this?  1  expected  different 
things  !  Evidently  your  seriousness  is  diminished ! 
You  care  less  for  salvation  than  you  did  !  What 
has  altered  your  feelings  since  I  saw  yon  ?" 

"  Why,  when  you  left  me  the  last  time  you 


NOT     DISCOURAGED.  107 

were  here,  and  told  me  to  repent  that  day,  I  was 
dreadfully  troubled.  I  felt  that  my  heart  was  op- 
posing Grod  ;  and  I  was  afraid  to  think  of  living 
without  Christ,  another  hour.  Your  last  words, 
1  to-day,  to-day  J  rung  in  my  ears  !  I  could  not 
get  rid  of  them.  But  pretty  soon,  Miss  S.  S. 
came  in,  about  an  hour  after  you  went  away ; 
and  I  told  her  how  I  felt.  But  she  told  me  not  to 
be  discouraged,  only  to  keep  on  seeking  the  Lord. 
She  said  I  was  doing  very  well,  and  I  ought  not 
to  feel  so ;  and  if  I  did  not  get  discouraged,  I 
should  soon  find  religion." 

"  And  you  believed  her  ?"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  I  believed  her  ;  and  I  have  felt  better 
ever  since — a  great  deal  better." 

"  Felt  better  !  Mary  ! — You  are  resting  on  a  lie  ! 
You  are  miserably  deceived  !  Doing  well  ?  How 
can  you  be  doing  well,  while  an  impenitent  sinner, 
rejecting  Christ,  and  exposed  every  moment  to  the 
wrath  of  Grod  forever  ?  Your  friend,  as  you  call 
her,  has  been  doing  the  work  of  the  great  de- 
ceiver !  She  did  not  talk  to  you  as  the  Bible  does, 
4  to-day,  to-day,  if  ye  will  hear  his  voice  !'  " 

I  aimed  to  arouse  her ;  but  it  was  all  in  vain ! 
Her  anxieties  departed  !  She  ceased  to  pray  !  and 
in  a  few  days  more.,  she  was  as  careless  and  world- 
ly as  ever. 


108 


NOT     DISCOURAGED. 


It  is  not  true,  that  a  convicted  and  pra)  ing  sin- 
ner is  doing  well,  while  without  faith  in  Christ. 
Something  more  is  needed.  He  must  repent  and 
believe.  And  certainly,  if  prayerless,  he  is  doing 
ill. 

This  young  woman,  who  misled  the  yielding 
and  affectionate  Mary,  was  a  professor  of  religion  ; 
and  one  of  those,  who  are  very  apt  to  be  busy,  in 
times  of  revival.  Doubtless  she  meant  well ;  but 
her  influence  was  very  unhappy.  No  one  is  ever 
safe  in  giving  any  counsel  to  impenitent  sinners, 
unless  he  is  careful  to  talk,  just  as  the  Bible  talks 
to  them.     Blind  guides  do  mischief. 


RELIANCE    ON   MAN. 


As  I  was  leaving  the  place  of  a  morning  prayer- 
meeting,  which  was  attended,  in  a  time  of  revival, 
very  early  in  the  morning;  a  young  man  about 
sixteen  years  of  age  came  to  me,  and  asked  per- 
mission to  accompany  me  home  ;  for  "  he  wanted 
to  talk  with  me." 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  say  to  me  ?"  said  I. 

"  Why — I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  to  do." 

"  I  have  told  you,  again  and  again.  I  can  tell 
you  nothing  different — nothing  new.  You  must 
repent,  if  you  would  be  saved.  You  must  give  up 
your  self-righteousness  and  flee  to  Christ.  The 
Law  condemns  you.  The  sovereign  grace  of  Grod 
only  can  save  you.  You  must  give  up  your 
miserable  and  long-continued  attempts  to  save 
yourself.  You  must  give  God  your  heart,  as  he 
requires,  and  as  I  have  explained  to  you  already, 
many  times." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  I  am  so  distressed  !  I 
10 


110  RELIANCE     ON     MAN. 

cannot  live  so !  I  want  you  to  tell  me  some- 
thing else." 

"  I  cannot  relieve  your  distress.  Christ  alone 
can  give  you  rest.  I  have  nothing  else  to  tell  you. 
I  have  told  you  all  the  truth — all  you  need  to 
"know." 

"  I  thought,"  said  he,  u  perhaps  you  could  say 
something,  that  would  help  me ;  if  I  went  to 
your  house." 

"  So  you  have  said  to  me  more  than  once,  and 
1  have  told  you  better.  God  only  can  help  you. 
You  must  rely  on  him." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  talk  with  you  again 
about  my  feelings,  in  your  study." 

"  It  would  do  you  no  good.  You  have  nothing 
to  say,  that  you  have  not  said  before  ;  and  I  have 
nothing  new  to  say  to  you." 

"  Well — may  I  go  home  with  you  ?" 

"  No.  Go  home.  Man  cannot  help  you.  The 
whole  matter  lies  betwixt  yourself  and  God." 

He  turned  away,  the  most  downcast  creature  I 
ever  saw.  It  seemed  as  if  his  last  prop  was  gone. 
He  walked  as  if  his  limbs  could  scarcely  carry 
him. 

I  had  not  been  at  home  an  hour,  before  he  came 
to  tell  me,  that  his  burden  was  gone.  He  said, 
that  after  I  "  had  cast  him  off,"  all  hope  forsook 
him,  and  he  "  had  nowhere  else  to  go  but  to  God." 
Before  he  reached  his  home,  (about  a  mile,)  he 


RELIANCE     ON     MAN.  Ill 

had  given  all  into  the  hands  of  (rod  ;  and  he  felt 
so  much  relieved  of  his  burden  of  sin  and  fear, 
that  he  thought  he  "  would  turn  right  about,  and 
come  right  back  and  tell  me." — u  But,"  said  he, 
"Ido  not  believe  I  should  have  gone  to  (rod,  if 
you  had  not  cast  me  off." 


Anxious  sinners  are  often  kept  from  Christ,  by 
their  reliances  on  men.  A  great  amount  of  re- 
ligious conversation  often  diminishes  their  impres- 
sions. It  tends  to  blunt  the  edge  of  truth.  It 
keeps  the  heart  in  a  kind  of  reliance  on  men. 
Conversation  with  judicious  Christians  and  judi- 
cious ministers  is  vastly  important  for  inquiring 
sinners ;  but  there  is  a  point  where  it  should 
cease.  All  that  men  can  do  is  contained  in  two 
things — to  make  sinners  understand  God's  truth, 
and  make  its  impression  upon  their  hearts  and 
consciences,  as  deep  as  possible.  If  they  aim  at 
anything  more,  they  are  just  trying  to  do  the 
work  of  the  Holy  Spirit. — Visiting  among  inquir- 
ers one  morning,  I  called  on  five  different  individ- 
uals, one  after  another,  in  the  course  of  a  single 
hour,  and  in  each  case  was  sorry  I  had  called  at 
all :  for  in  each  case,  after  a  very  few  minutes  of 
conversation,  I  was   fully  persuaded   that  God's 


112  RELIANCE     ON     MAN. 

truth  was  deeply  felt,  and  that  anything  which  I 
could  say  would  tend  to  diminish  the  impressions, 
which  the  Holy  Spirit  was  making  on  their  hearts. 
I  aimed  to  say  just  enough  not  to  have  them 
think  I  did  not  care  for  them ;  and  got  away 
as  soon  as  I  could,  for  fear  of  doing  an  injury. — 
Every  one  of  these  individuals  afterwards  dated 
her  religious  hope  from  the  same  day. — No  man 
can  preach  so  powerfully  as  the  Holy  Spirit.  It 
is  vastly  important  to  know  when  to  stop.  The 
divine  writers  understood  this.  They  are  perfect 
examples.  Their  silence  is  to  be  imitated,  as  well 
as  their  utterance. 


BAD    ADVICE. 


A  few  weeks  after  this,  I  had  a  similar  request 
from  another  young  man,  whom,  also,  I  had  often 
seen,  and  with  whom  I  had  many  times  convers- 
ed about  his  salvation.  We  were  leaving  the 
church,  at  the  close  of  the  evening  service,  when 
he  met  me  at  the  door,  and  said  to  me,  that  if  I 
was  willing,  he  would  go  home  with  me.  He 
seemed  to  be  under  just  and  deep  conviction,  as  a 
sinner ;  and  more  so,  when  I  had  conversed  with 
him  in  the  former  part  of  the  same  day,  than  I 
had  ever  seen  him  before.  I  knew  it  was  not  in 
my  power  to  teach  him  any  important  truth, 
which  I  had  not  already  taught  him  ;  and  I  fear- 
ed, that  anything  which  I  could  say  to  him  would 
diminish,  instead  of  increasing  the  impressions 
which  the  Holy  Spirit  was  making  upon  his  mind. 
I  wished  him  to  realize,  that  his  help  must  come 
from  Grod.  I  recollected  the  case  of  the  other 
young  man.     He  appeared  just  like  him,  when  he 

10* 


114  BAD     ADVICE. 

made  the  same  request.  I  have  never  known  two 
persons  more  alike.  Consequently  I  refused  his 
request.  He  entreated  ;  but  I  would  not  yield. 
I  wished  to  treat  him  affectionately  ;  but  as  he 
said  he  had  no  question  to  ask  me  and  nothing 
new  to  tell  me,  I  refused  to  allow  his  accompany- 
ing me  home,  and  bade  him  good  night.  As  he 
turned  away,  he  seemed  ready  to  sink  ;  and  I 
could  not  but  hope,  that  he  was  about  to  give  up 
all  his  attempts  to  save  himself,  and  flee  to  the 
Saviour  of  sinners. 

A  few  evenings  afterwards  he  came  to  the  meet- 
ing appointed  for  conversation,  with  a  very  altered 
look.     I  asked  him  ; — 

"  Do  you  think  you  have  made  any  progress, 
since  I  saw  you,  in  seeking  the  Lord  ?" 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  I  have." 

"  Do  you  think  you  ever  will  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  I  believe  I  shall." 

"When?" 

"  I  don't  know  when  ;  but  I  am  not  discouraged. 
I  mean  to  keep  on." 

"  Keep  on  in  what  ?" 

"  In  seeking  religion." 

"  Then  you  are  keeping  on  now,  without  re- 
ligion." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Is  that  a  good  way  to  keep  on?  keeping  on  in 
impenitence,   in  enmity  against  God,  in  '  tramp- 


BAD     ADVICE.  115 

ling  under  foot  the  blood  of  Christ  and  doing  de- 
spite to  the  Spirit  of  all  grace  ?'  It  seems  to  me, 
that  you  would  do  well  to  stop,  and  turn  about, 
instead  of  keeping  on  towards  perdition,  any 
longer !" 

"  Why,"  said  he,   "  ought  I  to  be  discouraged  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  the  sooner  you  are  discouraged 
from  '  keeping  on'  towards  ruin,  the  better." 

"  I  am  not  much  troubled  about  that." 

"  So  I  perceive.  But  you  were  troubled,  when 
I  parted  with  you  a  few  evenings  since." 

"  Yes,  I  was  then,  very  much." 

"  And  what  has  altered  your  feelings  ?  Is  there 
not  quite  as  much  reason  for  your  being  troubled 
now  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  there  may  be  as  much  rea- 
son— but  just  after  I  left  you  and  was  going  home, 

I  met  Mr. and  told  him  how  I  felt,  just  as  I 

had  told  you ;  and  he  told  me  not  to  be  dis- 
couraged, but  to  keep  on,  read  the  Bible  and  pray, 
and  I  should  find  peace  of  mind,  by  and  by." 

"  He  told  you  wrong.  He  ought  to  have  told 
you,  to  turn  from  sin  to  God  instantly,  embracing 
Christ  in  faith ;  not  to  keep  on  in  your  wicked  re- 
bellion, '  according  to  your  hard  and  impenitent 
heart,  treasuring  up  wrath  against  the  day  of 
wrath.'  '  To-day' — the  word  of  Grod  says,  '  to- 
day, if  ye  will  hear  his  voice,  harden  not  your 
heart.'     A  sinner  is  always  hardening,  when  he  is 


116  BAD     ADVICE. 

intentionally  delaying ;  because  he  is  sinning  by 
disobedience,  and  sin  always  hardens.  Your  mind 
was  relieved  by  what  he  told  you  ?" 

"  Yery  much.     I  have  felt  more  at  peace  since." 
"  The  peace  of  the  wicked  !  peace  in  sin !  peace, 
without  Christ !  peace,  while  there  is  no  peace ! 
peace,  while  exposed  to  eternal  perdition !" 

He  smiled  at  this  ;  though  I  spake  with  the  ut- 
most solemnity;  and  I  left  him.  I  saw  him  many 
times  afterwards  ;  but  he  seemed  to  have  turned 
his  face  towards  the  world.  His  attention  to  re- 
ligion continued  for  a  little  while  ;  but  it  was  not 
long,  before  all  appearances  of  seriousness  had  left 
him.  He  soon  became  one  of  the  most  stupid  and 
indifferent  sinners  I  have  ever  seen ;  and  continued 
to  be  so,  as  long  as  I  knew  him.  I  have  not  a 
doubt,  that  his  interview  with  that  man,  (who 
was  an  excellent  member  of  my  church,)  helped 
to  dissipate  his  serious  impressions.  His  heart 
seized  upon  an  idea  presented  to  him,  and  misin- 
terpreted it,  and  wrought  it  into  an  excuse.  The 
idea  presented  to  him,  beyond  all  question,  was 
the  idea,  that  he  ought  not  to  despair  in  Grod,  but 
keep  on  '  striving  to  enter  in  at  the  strait  gate' — 
not  to  keep  on,  in  his  impenitence.  But  he  took 
it  as  a  sedative  to  his  conscience.  The  directions 
of  (rod's  word  are  the  only  safe  directions  for  in- 
quiring sinners.  The  more  accurately  we  see 
their  hearts,  the  more  appropriately  we  may  bring 


BAD     ADVICE.  117 

scripture  truths  to  bear  upon  them.  In  this  per- 
ception of  their  state  and  this  application  of  divine 
truth,  consists  the  skill  of  any  one,  who  would 
guide  them  to  Christ.  There  is  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve, that  the  Holy  Spirit  ever  leaves  awakened 
sinners  ;  only  as  they  leave  the  truth  of  God,  for 
some  error,  or  some  sin.  Truth  is  the  Spirit's  in- 
strumentality. *  Sanctify  them  through  thy  truth, 
thy  word  is  truth.'  "We  never  should  cease  to  cry 
to  a  sinner,  flee,  flee  ;  till,  safe  within  the  city  of 
refuge,  he  cannot  be  reached,  by  the  sword  of  the 
avenger  of  blood. 


THE  WHOLE  HEART. 


In  the  early  part  of  my  ministry,  I  was  request- 
ed by  a  clergyman  to  attend  a  meeting  for  religious 
inquiry,  and  converse  with  the  young  men  who 
were  there.  I  spake  to  each  one  separately. 
Nothing  occurred  to  impress  the  circumstance  par- 
ticularly on  my  memory.  Twenty  years  after- 
wards, I  met  with  a  clergyman,  who  called  up  my 
recollection  of  that  meeting.  Said  he ;  "  I  was 
there,  and  you  spake  to  me.  Do  you  remember 
what  you  said  ?"  I  had  no  recollection  of  the  par- 
ticulars. "  Well,  I  have,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  will 
tell  you  how  it  was.  I  have  long  wanted  to  tell 
you.  You  asked  me,  if  I  was  seeking  the  Lord, 
and  I  told  you  that  I  was  trying  to.  You  asked 
me,  if  my  trying  had  done  me  any  good  ;  and  I 
answered,  that  I  did  not  know  as  it  had.  You 
told  me  then,  that  you  could  tell  me  the  reason 
why  it  had  not :  the  reason  was,  that  I  had  sought 
with  only  a  part  of  my  heart.     You  went  on  to  say 


THE      WHOLE     HEART.  119 

to  me,  you  must  search  with  all  your  heart,  not 
half  of  it :  '  Ye  shall  seek  me  and  ye  shall  find  me, 
when  ye  shall  search  for  me  with  all  your  heart  ?' 
I  wondered  you  said  that.  I  thought  I  was  seeking 
with  all  my  heart.  But  this  idea,  '  with  all  your 
heart,'  remained  with  me.  I  could  not  get  rid  of 
it ;  and  finally  I  found  out,  that  this  was  exactly 
my  difficulty.  I  had  been  seeking  for  months,  but 
with  a  part  of  my  heart  only.  Your  words,  '  all 
your  heart,  all  your  heart]  led  me  into  the 
knowledge  of  my  character,  and  into  the  right 
way.  I  have  often  thought  of  that  meeting ;  and 
wondered,  that  you  should  know  me  so  well. — 
That  circumstance  has  since  been  of  great  use  to 
me,  in  conversing  with  anxious  inquirers.'' 


Ministers  must  sometimes  draw  their  bow  at  a 
venture.  But  it  is  better  to  take  aim.  There  are 
some  scripture  arrows,  which  we  should  always 
have  in  our  quiver,  because  they  are  sure  to  hit. 
They  will  at  least  ring  upon  the  harness,  if  they 
do  not  penetrate  the  joints.  They  will  alarm  if 
they  do  not  kill. — After  we  have  "  toiled  all  night 
and  taken  nothing  ;"  if  we  cast  our  net  on  the 
right  side  of  the  ship,  it  will  not  come  in  empty. 
There  is  but  one  way  to  Christ.  Faith  saves  :  the 
Faith  of  the  whole  heart.  Jesus,  save  me — or  I 
die! 


THE  WELSH  WOMAN  AND  HER  TENANT. 


A  man,  who  was  entirely  a  stranger  to  me,  and 
whose  appearance  convinced  me  he  was  poor,  and 
whose  address  showed,  that  he  was  not  very  fa- 
miliar with  the  subject  of  religion,  called  upon  me 
one  morning ;  and  with  some  agitation  desired  me 
to  go  to  a  distant  street,  to  see  his  wife,  who  was 
sick.  On  making  some  inquiries  ;  I  learned,  that 
his  wife  had  the  consumption,  was  not  expected  to 
live  many  days,  had  not  expressed  any  desire  to 
see  me  ;  but  that  he  had  come  for  me,  at  the  re- 
quest of  an  aged  Welsh  woman,  who  lived  in  the 
same  house.  I  immediately  went  to  the  place  he 
described.  I  found  the  woman  apparently  in  the 
last  stages  of  the  consumption.  She  was  an  inter- 
esting young  woman,  of  about  twenty  years  of 
age,  and  had  been  married  a  little  more  than  a 
year.  All  the  appearance  of  her  room  was  indica- 
tive of  poverty,  though  everything  manifested  the 
most   perfect   neatness.      She   was   bolstered   up, 


THE    WELSH    WOMAN    AND    HER    TENANT.      121 

upon  her  bed,  her  face  pale,  with  a  bright  red  spot 
in  the  centre  of  each  cheek.  She  appeared  ex- 
ceedingly weak  ;  while  her  frequent  cough  seemed 
to  be  tearing  her  to  pieces.  Her  condition  affect- 
ed me.  Manifestly,  her  youth  and  beauty  were 
destined  to  an  early  grave.  She  must  soon  leave 
the  world ;  and  how  tender  and  terrible  the 
thought,  that  she  might  still  be  unprepared  for  a 
happier  *one ! 

As  I  told  her  who  I  was,  and  why  I  had  come 
there ;  she  offered  me  her  hand,  with  a  ready  and 
easy  politeness ;  and  yet,  with  a  manifest  em- 
barrassment of  feeling,  which  she  evidently  strug- 
gled to  conceal. 

I  have  seldom  seen  a  more  perfectly  beautiful 
woman.  Her  frame  was  delicate,  her  complexion 
clear  and  white,  her  countenance  indicative  of  a 
more  than  ordinary  degree  of  intelligence  and 
amiability  ;  and  as  she  lifted  her  languid  eyes 
upon  me,  I  could  not  but  feel  in  an  instant,  that  I 
was  in  the  presence  of  an  uncommon  woman. 

I  felt  her  feverish  pulse,  which  was  rapidly 
beating,  and  expressing  my  sorrow  at  finding  her 
so  ill,  she  said  to  me,  (speaking  with  some  diffi- 
culty :)— 

"  You  find  me — in  very  humble  circumstances 
—sir." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  you  seem  very  sick." 
"  We  have  not — always  been — so  straitened  as 
11 


122  THE      WELSH     WOMAN 

we  are  now,"  said  she. — "  We  lived — very  comfor- 
tably— before — I  was  sick.  But,  I  am  not  able — 
to  do  anything,  now.  And  I  am  ashamed — to 
have  you  find  me — with  my  room,  and  all  things 
^— in  such  a  state  ;"  (casting  a  look  about  the 
room.)  "  Once — I  could  have  seen  you  in  a 
more  inviting  place. — But,  sir — we  are  now — 
very  poor — and  cannot  live — as  we  used  to. — My 
situation — is — very  humble — indeed." 

"  You  have  no  occasion  to  be  ashamed,"  said  I. 
"  Your  room  is  very  neat ;  and  if  you  are  in  want 
of  anything,  it  will  give  me  pleasure  to  aid  you 
to  whatever  you  need." 

"  Oh,  sir,  I  am  not — in  want — of  anything 
now.  I  am  too  sick  to  need  anything — more 
than  the  old  lady— *can  do  for  me  ;  and  she  is — 
very  kind." 

li  And  who  is  the  old  lady  ?"  I  asked, 

('  Mrs.  Williams,"  said  she  ;  "  in  whose  house 
-—we  have  lived  since  ours — was  sold  ; — the 
woman  that — wanted  me  to  have  you — come  and 
see  me.  She  has  been — -talking — -to  me  about  re- 
ligion ; — (she  is  a  Welch — woman  ; — )  and  she 
has  read — to  me — An  the  Bible,  but — I  cannot — * 
understand  it." 

"  And  did  you  wish  to  have  me  come  and  see 
you  ?" 

' '  No — yes — I  am  willing — -to  see  you ;  but^— I 
am — in  such — a  place  here^—my  room — " 


AND     HER     TENANT.  123 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  I,  "do  not  think  of  such 
things  at  all.  You  have  something  of  more  mo- 
ment to  think  of.  You  are  very  sick.  Do  you 
expect  ever  to  get  well  ?" 

11  No,  sir  ;  they — tell  me — I  shall  not." 
"  And  do  you  feel  prepared  to  die  ?" 
"  I    do   not   know — what    that — preparation — 
means.     And,  it  is  too  late,  now,  for  me  to  do  any- 
thing— about  it. — I  am  too  far — gone." 

"  No,  Madam,  you  are  not.  Grod  is  infinitely 
merciful ;  and  you  may  be  saved.  Have  you 
been  praying  to  him  to  save  you  ?" 

"  I  never — prayed.  Indeed,  sir, — I  never 
thought — of  religion,  till  I  was — sick,  and  the 
old  lady  talked — to  me.  But  I  cannot — under- 
stand her.  I  have  never — read  the  Bible. — I 
never  was  inside — of  a  church — in  my  life.  No- 
body— ever  asked  me — to  go,  or  told  me — I  ought 
to.  I  did  not  think — :of  religion,  i  just  lived  to 
enjoy — myself — as  well — as  I  could.  My  aunt — 
who  took  me — when  my  mother — died,  never 
went — to  church,  and  never  said  anything — to  me 
about  religion.- — So  I  lived — as  she — allowed  me 
to,  from  the  time  I  was  three  years  old. — I  had 
property — enough  for  everything — I  wanted — 
then  ;  and  after  I  left — school — about  four  years 
ago, — I  had  nothing — to  do — but  to  go  to  parties 
— and  dances — and  attend  to — my  dress,  and 
read — till — I  was  married. — Since  that — we  have 


124  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

had  trouble. — My  husband — I  suppose — did  not 
understand  things — in  our  country — very  well. 
He  mortgaged — my  house,  and  in  a  little  while — 
it  was  sold — and  we  were — obliged — to  leave  it, 
and  come  here." 

"  What  did  you  read  ?"  said  I. 

"  Oh,  I  read  novels;  the  most  of  the  time — 
sometimes — I  read  other  books  ;  but — not  much, 
except — some  history,  and  biography." 

"  Did  you  never  read  the  Bible  ?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"Have  you  got  a  Bible?" 

"  No,  sir.  The  old  lady — has  got  one — which 
she  brings  to  me ;  but  I  am  too  weak — to  read  it. 
— It  is  a  large  book  ;  and  I — shall  not  live — long 
enough  to  read  it." 

"  You  need  not  read  it,"  said  I. — "  But  now 
suffer  me  to  talk  to  you  plainly.  You  are  very 
sick.  You  may  not  live  long.  Will  you  give  your 
attention  to  religion,  as  well  as  you  can,  in  your 
weak  state  ;  and  aim  to  get  ready  to  die  ?" 

"  I  would,  sir — if  I  had  time.  But  I  do  not 
—know  anything — at  all — about  religion — and  it 
would  do  me — no  good — to  try  now,  when  I  have 
— so  little  time — left." 

"  You  have  time  enough  left." 

"  Do  you — think  so — sir  ?" 

"  I  know  you  have,  Madam." 

She  turned  her  eyes  upon  me,  imploringly,  and 


AND     HER     TENANT.  125 

yet  despondingly ;  and  with  a  voice  trembling 
with  emotion,  she  said  to  me,  speaking  slowly  and 
with  difficulty : — 

"  Sir,  I  cannot — believe  that. — I  have  never  be- 
gun— to  learn  religion. — I  lived  only  for  my — pres- 
ent enjoyment — till  I  was  married ;  and  since 
that,  after — my  husband — failed — all  I  have 
thought  of — was  to  save — some  little — of  my 
property — if  I  could  ;  so  as  not  to — be  a  burden — 
to  other  people. — And  now, — there  cannot — be 
time — enough  left — for  me — to  begin  with  re- 
ligion— and  go — all  the  way  through." 

"  There  is  time  enough"  said  I. 

Perceiving  that  she  was  already  exhausted  by 
her  efforts  to  speak ;  I  told  her  to  rest  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  I  would  see  her  again.  I  went  into 
another  room  to  see  "  the  old  lady,"  (as  she  called 
her,)  whom  I  found  to  be  a  pious  Welsh  woman, 
who  had  rented  a  part  of  her  house  to  the  sick 
woman's  husband,  some  months  before,  and  who 
now  devoted  herself  to  take  care  of  the  poor  suf- 
ferer. The  tenant  had  squandered  all  his  wife's 
property  ;  and  now  during  her  sickness,  continued 
his  dissipation,  paying  little  attention  to  his  dying 
wife.  If  he  ever  had  a  heart,  rum  had  destroyed 
it. 

"  She  is  a  good  creature,"  said  the  Welsh 
woman,  "  all  but  religion.  When  she  was  well, 
she  was  very  kind  to  me.     Though   she   was  a 


11* 


126  THE     WELSH     AV  0  M  A  N 

lady,  and  had  fine  clothes,  she  was  not  ashamed  to 
come  and  sit  with  me,  an  hour  at  a  time,  and  talk 
to  me  and  try  to  make  me  happy  ;  for  I  am  a  poor, 
lone  widow,  seventy  years  old ;  and  all  my  chil- 
dren are  dead  ;  and 'when  I  told  her  how  it  was 
with  me,  that  I  had  nothing  to  live  upon,  but  the 
rent  I  got  for  the  rooms  of  my  house ;  and  she 
found  out,  (/did  not  tell  her  of  it,)  that  her  hus- 
band did  not  pay  the  rent  any  longer ;  she  sold  her 
rings  and  some  of  her  clothes,  and  brought  me 
the  money,  poor  thing,  and  told  me  to  take  it.  I 
did  not  know,  at  first,  that  she  sold  her  rings  and 
her  clothes  to  get  it ;  and  when  I  asked  her  how 
she  got  it,  and  she  told  me,  I  said  to  her  I  would 
not  have  it,  it  would  burn  my  fingers  if  I  took  it, 
and  the  rust  of  it  would  eat  my  flesh,  as  it  were 
fire,  and  be  a  canker  in  my  heart,  and  be  a  swift 
witness  against  me  in  the  day  of  the  great  (rod, 
our  Saviour.  So  I  gave  it  back  to  her  ;  but  she 
would  not  take  it :  she  laid  it  down  there," — 
(pointing  to  it  with  her  finger, — )  "  on  the  mantle- 
piece, — it  is  five  weeks  yesterday, — and  there  it 
has  been  ever  since.  I  cannot  touch  it.  I  never 
ivill  touch  it,  unless  I  am  forced  to  take  it  to  buy 
her  a  coffin.  Christ  Jesus  would  not  have  taken 
the  price  of  a  lady's  rings  and  clothes,  in  such  a 
case  ;  and  it  is  not  for  the  like  of  me  to  do  it. 
Poor  thing!  she  will  soon  die,  and  then  she  will 
want  rings  and  clothes  no  longer  !     Oh,  sir !  if  I 


AND     HER     TENANT.  127 

could  only  think  she  would  wear  robes  of  glory  in 
heaven  I  would  not  weep  so.  But  I  am  afraid  it 
is  all  too  late  for  her  now !  Religion  is  a  hard 
business  for  a  poor,  sick  sinner  !  And  her  hus- 
band would  not  go  for  you,  week  before  last,  nor 
last  week.  He  never  went  till  this  morning, 
when  I  told  him,  as  I  was  a  living  woman,  lis 
never  should  enter  the  house  to-night, — he  should 
sleep  in  the  street,  if  he  did  not  bring  you  here 
before  the  clock  struck  twelve.  I  want  you  to 
pray  for  her.  There  is  no  telling  what  Grod  may 
do.  May  be  he  will  send  suddenly.  But  /  can- 
not tell  her  the  way.  I  have  tried.  I  tried  hard  ; 
but,  poor  thing,  she  said  she  could  not  understand 
me.  And  then,  I  could  do  nothing  but  come  to 
my  room  and  weep  for  her,  and  go  to  prayer,  and 
then  weep  again.  I  am  glad  you  have  come. 
And  now  donH  leave  her,  till  you  have  prayed  and 
got  a  blessing, — if  it  is  not  too  late." 

I  have  seldom  heard  eloquence  surpassing  that 
of  "  the  old  lady."  Some  of  her  expressions  were 
singular,  but  they  seemed  to  have  in  them  the 
majesty  and  tenderness  of  both  nature  and  re- 
ligion. 

I  borrowed  the  "  old  lady's"  Bible  ;  and  returned 
to  the  sick  woman's  room.  Seating  myself  by  the 
side  of  her  bed,  I  told  her  I  did  not  wish  her  to 
talk,  for  it  wearied  her.  But  I  wanted  she  should 
listen  to  me,  without  saying  a  word,  only  if  she 


128  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

did  not  understand  me,  she  might  say  so,  and  I 
would  explain  myself. 

"Can  I  understand?" — said  she,  (with  a  look 
of  mingled  earnestness  and  despair.) 

"  Certainly  you  can.  Religion  is  all  simple  and 
easy,  if  one  desires  to  know  it ;  and  if  you  do  not 
understand  me,  it  is  my  fault,  not  yours. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  child ;  listen  to  me,  a  little 
while.  I  will  not  be  long.  But  first  allow  me  to 
pray  with  you,  for  a  single  minute." 

After  prayer,  I  took  the  Bible,  and  told  her  it 
was  God's  word,  given  to  us  to  teach  us  the  way 
to  eternal  life  and  happiness  beyond  the  grave  ; — 
that  it  taught  all  I  knew,  or  needed  to  know  about 
salvation ; — that  though  it  was  a  large  book,  and 
contained  many  things,  which  might  be  profitable 
to  her  under  other  circumstances  ;  yet,  all  that 
she  needed  to  think  of  just  now,  was  embraced  in 
a  few  ideas,  which  were  easy  to  be  understood ; — 
and  I  wanted  her  to  listen  to  them,  and  try  to  un- 
derstand them. 

"  I  will — sir,"  said  she,  u  as  well — as  I  can." 

"  Hear  what  (rod  says  then,"  said  I. 

"  The  first  thing  is — that  ive  are  sinners"  I 
explained  sin.  I  explained  the  Law  which  it 
transgressed,  how  it  is  holy,  just  and-  good ;  and 
we  have  broken  it,  because  we  have  not  loved  the 
Lord  our  Grod  with  all  our  heart,  and  our  neighbor 
as  ourselves. 


AND     HER     TENANT.  129 

"No,  I  have — never  loved — him,"  said  she. 

I  dwelt  upon  our  sin,  as  guilt  and  alienation 
from  Grod ;  explained  how  sinners  are  worldly, 
proud,  selfish ;  and  read  the  texts  as  proofs  and 
explanations, — "  by  the  deeds  of  the  Law  shall  no 
flesh  be  justified — the  carnal  mind  is  enmity 
against  Grod,  for  it  is  not  subject  to  the  Law  of 
God."  In  short,  that  man  is,  in  himself,  a  lost 
sinner ;  Grod  is  angry  with  him,  and  he  has  a 
wicked  heart. 

Said  she,  "  That  seems — strange — to  me  ;  I 
wish — 1  had  known  it — before." 

"  The  second  thing  is — that  just  such  sinners 
may  be  saved,  because  Jesus  Christ  came  to  seek 
and  to  save  the  lost.  I  read  from  the  Bible, 
'  Grod  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave  his  own  Son, 
that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life.  The  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ  his  Son  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.  He  was 
wounded  for  our  transgressions,  he  was  bruised  for 
our  iniquities.  The  chastisement  of  our  peace  was 
upon  him.  The  Lord  hath  laid  upon  him  the  in- 
iquity of  us  all.'  You  see,  therefore,  that  sinners 
can  be  saved.     Christ  died  for  them." 

"  Will  he — save  me  ?"  said  she. 

"  I  hope  he  will — but  listen  to  me. — The  third 
thing  is,  that  lost  sinners  will  be  saved  by 
Christ,  if  they  repent  of  sin  and  believe  in 
him."      I    continued    to    select    texts    and    read 


130  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

them  to  her.  "  God  now  commandeth  all  men 
everywhere  to  repent.  Except  ye  repent,  ye  shall 
all  likewise  perish.  As  many  as  received  him,  to 
them  gave  he  power  to  become  the  sons  of  (rod, 
even  to  them  that  believe  in  his  name.  Christ  is 
the  end  of  the  Law  for  righteousness  to  every  one 
that  believeth.  Though  your  sins  be  as  scarlet, 
they  shall  be  as  white  as  snow,  though  they  be  red 
like  crimson,  they  shall  be  as  wool." 

As  I  read  such  passages,  turning  over  the  leaves 
of  the  book,  as  I  stood  by  her  bed-side  ;  her  eyes 
followed  the  turning  leaves,  and  she  gazed  upon 
the  book  in  astonishment.  At  times,  when  repeat- 
ing a  peculiar  text,  my  eyes  rested  on  her  face  in- 
stead of  the  book,  and  then  she  would  ask,  "  Is 
that  in  Grod's  word  ?"  I  found  it  best,  therefore, 
just  to  look  on  the  book,  and  read  slowly  and  de- 
liberately. 

"  The  fourth  thing  is,  that  we  need  the  aid  of 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  renew  our  hearts,  and  bring  us 
to  faith  and  repentance.  '  Except  a  man  be  born 
again  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of  Grod.  That 
which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh  ;  that  which  is 
born  of  the  Spirit  is  spirit.  No  man  can  come 
unto  me,  except  the  Father  which  sent  me  draw 
him.  In  me  Ls  thy  help.  Let  him  take  hold  on 
my  strength,  that  he  may  make  peace  with  me, 
and  he  shall  make  peace  with  me.'  Man  is  help- 
less without  the  Holy  Spirit. 


AND    HER    TENANT.  131 

"  The  last  thing  is,  that  all  this  salvation  is 
freely  offered  to  us  now,  to-day,  and  it  is  our  duty 
and  interest  to  accept  it  on  the  spot,  and  just  as 
we  are,  undone  sinners.  '  Hear  and  your  soul 
shall  live.  Seek  ye  the  Lord  while  he  may  be 
found.  Call  ye  upon  him  while  he  is  near.  Let 
the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and  the  unrighteous 
man  his  thoughts,  and  let  him  return  unto  the 
Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  to 
our  Grod  for  he  will  abundantly  pardon.  If  ye, 
being  evil,  know  how  to  give  good  gifts  unto 
your  children,  how  much  more  will  your  heavenly 
Father  give  the  Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him. 
Behold  now  is  the  accepted  time  ;  behold  now  is 
the  day  of  salvation.  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest.  The  Spirit  and  the  bride  say,  come  ;  and  let 
him  that  is  athirst  come  ;  and  let  him  that  hear- 
eth  say,  come ;  and  whosoever  will,  let  him  take 
of  the  water  of  life  freely.' 

"  Now,  my  dear  child,  this  is  all ;  only  these 
five  things.  I  will  now  leave  you  for  an  hour,  to 
rest,  and  then  I  will  be  back  to  see  you." 

In  an  hour  I  returned,  determined  to  go  over 
the  same  things,  and  explain  them,  if  needful, 
more  fully.  As  I  entered  the  room  she  looked  at 
me  with  a  gladsome  smile,  and  yet  with  an  in- 
tense earnestness,  which  for  an  instant  I  feared 
was  insanity.     Said  she,  "  I  am  so  glad  you  have 


132  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

come ; — I  have  been — thinking — of  what  you  read 
— to  me.  These  things — must  be  true  ;  but — 
I  don't  know — as  I  should — believe  them,  if  they 
were  not — in  the  word — of  God.  I  understand 
some — of  them. — I  know  I  am — a  sinner — I  feel 
it.  I  never  knew  it — so  before. — I  have  not — 
loved  God.  I  have  been — wicked  and  foolish.  I 
am — undone.  And  now — when  I  know  it,  my 
heart — is  so  bad,  that  instead  of — loving  Grod — it 


shrinks  from — him, — and  I  am  afraid — it  is  toe 
late — for  me  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  I;  "your  heart  is  worse  than  you 
think.  You  can  make  it  no  better.  Give  it  to 
God.  Trust  Christ  to  pardon  all.  He  died  for 
just  such  lost  sinners." 

"  Yes,  sir, — I  remember — that ;  but — what  is 
it — to  believe  ?  I  do  not — understand  that — 
thing. — You  said  I  must  repent  of  sin, — and  must 
believe — in  Jesus  Christ. — I  think  that  I  under- 
stand one — of  these  things.  To  repent  is  to  be 
sorry  for  my  sin, — and  to  leave  it.  But — what  is 
it — to  believe  ? — I  cannot — understand  that. — 
What  is  believing — in  Jesus  Christ  ?" 

"  It  is  trusting  him  to  save  you.  It  is  receiv- 
ing him,  as  your  own  offered  Saviour,  and  giving 
yourself  to  him,  as  a  helpless  sinner,  to  be  saved 
by  his  mercy.     lie  died  to  atone-  for  sinners." 

"  I  believe  that, — for  God's  word — says  so. — -Is 
this — all  the  faith — that  I  must  have  ?" 


AND    HER    TENANT.  133 

"  No  ;  not  at  all.  You  must  have  more.  You 
must  trust  him.  You  must  receive  him  as  your 
own  Saviour,  and  give  yourself  to  him.  You 
may  remember  the  passage  I  read  to  you.  Here 
it  is  in  (rod's  word : — '  As  many  as  received  him, 
to  them  gave  he  power  to  become  the  sons  of  God, 
even  to  them  that  believe  on  his  namt '  You  see 
that,  here,  'believing'  and  'receiving'  express  the 
same  thing.  You  are  to  take  Christ  as  God  of- 
fers him  to  you ;  and  you  are  to  rely  on  him  to 
save  you.     That  is  faith." 

u  Sir, — I  am  afraid — I  can  never — understand 
it,"  said  she,  the  tears  coursing  over  her  pale 
cheek. 

"  Yes,  you  can.  It  is  very  simple.  There  are 
only  two  things  about  it.  Take  Christ  for  your 
own,  and  give  yourself  to  him  to  be  his.  Some- 
times these  two  things  are  put  together  in  the 
Bible,  as  when  a  happy  believer  says,  '  my  belov- 
ed is  mine,  and  I  am  his.'  It  is  union  with 
Christ,  as  if  he  were  your  husband,  and  you  were 
his  bride." 

"  Oh  !  sir, — it  is  all  dark  to  me  ! — Faith — I  can- 
not— understand  it !" 

"  See  here,  my  dear  child.  If  you  were  here  on 
this  island,  and  it  was  going  to  sink  ;  you  would 
be  in  a  sad  condition,  if  you  could  not  get  off. 
There  would  be  no  hope  for  you,  if  you  had  no 
help.  You  would  sink  with  the  island.  You 
12 


134  THE    WELSH    WOMAN 

could  not  save  yourself.  You  might  get  down  by 
the  shore,  and  know  and  feel  the  necessity  of  being 
over  on  the  other  side,  quickly,  before  the  island 
should  go  down.  But  you  could  not  get  there 
alone.  There  is  a  wide  river  betwixt  you  and  the 
place  of  safety,  where  you  wish  to  go.  It  is  so 
deep,  that  you  could  not  wade  it.  It  is  so  wide 
and  rapid,  that  you  could  not  swim  it.  Your  case 
would  be  hopeless,  if  there  was  no  help  for  you. 
You  would  be  lost ! — But  there  is  a  boat  there. 
You  see  it,  going  back  and  forth,  carrying  people 
over,  where  they  want  to  go.  People  tell  you  it  is 
safe,  and  you  have  only  to  go  on  it.  It  seems  safe 
to  you,  as  you  behold  it  in  motion.  You  believe  it 
is  safe. — Now  what  do  you  do,  in  such  a  case  ? 
You  just  step  on  board  the  boat.  You  do  not 
merely  believe,  it  would  save  you,  if  you  were  on 
it ;  but  you  go  on  it.  You  commit  yourself  to  it. 
When  you  get  on ;  you  do  not  work,  or  walk,  or 
run,  or  ride.  You  do  nothing,  but  one.  You 
take  care  not  to  fall  off.  That  is  all.  You  just 
trust  to  the  boat,  to  hold  you  up  from  sinking,  and 
to  carry  you  over,  where  you  want  to  go.  Just  so, 
trust  yourself  to  Jesus  Christ  to  save  you.  He 
will  carry  you  to  heaven.  Venture  on  him  now. 
He  waits  to  take  you." 

"  But — will  he  save — such — a  wicked — undone 
creature — as  I  am  ?" 

"  Yes;   he  will.     He  says  he  will.     He  came 


AND     HER     TENANT.  13f5 

from  heaven  to  do  it ;  '  to  seek  and  to  save  that 
which  was  lost.'  He  invites  you  to  come  to  him. 
I  read  it  to  you  in  his  word ;  !  come  unto  me,  all 
ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest.' " 

"  May  /  go?"  says  she,  (her  countenance  indi- 
cating the  most  intense  thought ;  and  her  eyes, 
suffused  with  tears  of  gladness  and  doubt,  fixing 
upon  me,  as  if  she  would  read  her  doom  from  my 
lips.) 

"  Yes,  you  may  go  to  Christ.  Come  in  wel- 
come. Come  now.  Come  just  such  a  sinner  as 
you  are.     Christ  loves  to  save  such  sinners." 

She  raised  herself  upon  her  couch,  and  leaning 
upon  her  elbow,  with  her  dark  locks  falling  over 
the  snowy  whiteness  of  her  neck,  her  brow  knit, 
her  lips  compressed,  her  fine  eyes  fixed  upon  me, 
and  her  bosom  heaving  with  emotion, — she  paused 
for  a  moment, — said  she  : — 

"  I  do  want — to  come  to  Christ." 

"  He  wants  you  to  come,"  said  I. 

"  Will  he — take — me  ?"  said  she. 

"  Yes,  he  will ;  he  says  he  will,"  said  I. 

"  I  am  wicked — and  do  not — deserve  it,"  said 
she. 

"  He  knows  that ;  and  died  to  save  you,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  I  think — I  would  come,  if  Grod,-r-if  the 
Holy  Spirit — would  help — me.  But — my  heart — 
is  afraid.     I  thought, — just  now  ;  if  I  only  knew 


136  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

— the  way,  I  would  do  it.  But  now,  when — you 
have  told  me  ;  I  cannot  believe  it.  I  cannot — - 
trust  Christ.  I  never — knew  before  ;  what — a 
distant  heart  I  have  !" 

"  The  Holy  Spirit  does  help  you.  At  this  mo- 
ment in  your  heart,  he  urges  you  to  come,  to  trust 
Christ.  The  Bible  tells  you  to  come.  c  The  Spirit 
and  the  bride  say,  come.'  Grod  lengthens  the 
hours  of  your  life,  that  you  may  come ;  while  he 
says  to  you,  '  Behold  now  is  the  accepted  time, 
now  is  the  day  of  salvation.' " 

I  paused  for  a  little  time;  and  as  I  watched 
her  countenance,  she  appeared  to  be  absorbed  in 
the  most  intense  thought.  Her  brow  was  slightly 
knit — her  lips  quivered — her  fine  eyes  roamed 
from  side  to  side,  and  often  upwards;  and  then, 
closed,  for  a  moment.  And  seeming  utterly  for- 
getful of  my  presence,  she  slowly  pronounced  the 
words,  with  a  pause  almost  at  every  syllable  ; — 
"  lost  sinner — anger — (rod — Christ — blood  —  love 
—  pardon —  heaven — help  —  Bible — now — come." 
And  then,  turning  her  eyes  upon  me,  she  said : 

"I  do  want — to  come — to  Christ — and  rest  on 
him. — If  my  Grod — will  accept — such — a  vile  sin- 
ner— I  give  myself — to  him — forever  !  —  oh  !  —  he 
will — accept  me — by  Christ — who  died  ! — Lord — 
save  me — I  lie  on  thee — to  save  me." 

She  sunk  back  upon  her  bed,  with  her  eyes  lift- 
ed to  heaven,  and  her  hands  raised  in  the  attitude 


AND     II EK     TENANT.  137 

of  prayer  ;  while  her  countenance  indicated  amaze- 
ment. 

I  knelt  by  her  bed,  uttered  a  short  prayer,  and 
left  her,  to  return  at  sunset. 

As  I  returned,  the  old  Welsh  woman  met  me  at 
the  door,  her  eyes  bathed  in  tears,  and  her  hands 
lifted  to  the  heavens.  I  supposed  she  was  going 
to  tell  me  that  the  sick  woman  was  dead  ;  but, 
with  uplifted  hands,  she  exclaimed,  "  Blessed  be 
Grod !  blessed  be  (rod  !  The  poor  thing  is  happy 
now ;  she  is  so  happy !  Thank  Grod  !  she  is  so 
happy  !  She  looks  like  an  angel  now  !  She  has 
seen  Christ,  her  Lord  ;  and  she  will  be  an  angel 
soon  !  Now  I  can  let  her  die  !  I  can't  stop  weep- 
ing !  She  has  been  a  dear  creature  to  me  !  But 
it  makes  my  heart  weep  for  joy  now,  when  I  see 
what  God  has  done  for  her,  and  how  happy  she 
is." 

She  conducted  me  to  her  sick  friend's  room. 
As  I  entered,  the  dying  woman  lifted  her  eyes 
upon  me,  with  a  smile  : — 

"  The  Lord — has  made  me  happy  ! — I  am — 
very  happy.  I  was  afraid — my  wicked  heart — 
never  would — love  Grod.  But,  he  has — led  me  to 
it.  Christ — is  very  dear — to  me.  I  can — lean 
on  him  now.     I — can  die — in  peace." 

I  conversed  with  her  for  some  minutes,  the 
"  old  lady"  standing  at  my  elbow,  in  tears.  She 
was  calm  and  full  of  peace.     She  said,  "  All  you 

12* 


138  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

told  me — was  true  ;  my  heart  finds  it  true. — How 
good — is  Jesus,  to  save  such  sinners  ! — I  was 
afraid — to  fall  upon  him  ;  but  I  know  now — that 
believing  is  all.  My  heart — is  different.  I  do 
love  Grod.     Jesus  Christ  is  very  dear — to  me." 

She  appeared  to  be  fast  sinking.  I  prayed  with 
her,  and  left  her.  The  next  day  she  died.  I 
visited  her  before  her  death.  She  was  at  peace. 
She  could  say  but  little ;  but  some  of  her  expres- 
sions were  remarkable.  She  desired  to  be  bolster- 
ed up  in  her  bed,  that  she  might  "  be  able  to 
speak  once  more."  She  seemed  to  rally  her 
strength ;  and  speaking  with  the  utmost  diffi- 
culty, the  death-gurgle  in  her  throat,  and  the 
tears  coursing  down  her  pale,  and  still  beautiful 
cheek,  she  said  : — 

"  I  wonder — at  God. — Never  was  there  such 
love. — He  is  all  goodness. — I  want — to  praise — 
him. — My  soul — loves  him.  I  delight — to  be 
his. — He — has  forgiven  me — a  poor  sinner — and 
now — his  love  exhausts  me. — The  Holy  Spirit — 
helped  me — or  my  heart — would  have  held — to 
its  own — goodness — in  its  unbelief. — Grod  has — 
heard  me. — He  has  come — to  me, — and  now — I 
live — on  prayer. — Pardon  me — sir, — I  forgot — to 
thank  you — I  was — so  carried  off — in  thinking — 
of  my  God. — He  will — reward  you — for  coming — 
to  see  me. — I  am  going — to  him — soon — I  hope. 


AND      HER     TENANT.  139 

— Dying  will  be  sweet — to  me — for  Christ— is 
with  me." 

I  said  a  few  words  to  her,  prayed  with  her,  and 
left  her.  As  I  took  her  hand,  at  that  last  fare- 
well, she  cast  upon  me  a  beseeching  look,  full  of 
tenderness  and  delight,  saying  to  me :  "  May  I 
hope — you — will  always — go  to  see — dying  sin- 
ners ?" — It  was  impossible  for  me  to  answer  audi- 
bly ; — she  answered  for  me  ; — "  Fknow — you  will 
— iarewell." 

She  continued  to  enjoy  entire  composure  of 
mind  till  the  last  moment.  Almost  her  last  words 
to  the  "  old  lady"  were,  "  My  delight  is — that 
G-od — is  king — over  all,  and  saves  sinners — by 
Jesus  Christ." 

I  called  at  the  house  after  she  was  dead,  and 
proposed  to  the  "old  lady"  that  I  would  procure  a 
sexton,  and  be  at  the  expense  of  her  funeral ; 
lifting  both  her  hands  towards  the  heavens,  she 
exclaimed, — "  No,  sir  !  indeed;  no,  sir  !  You 
wrong  my  heart  to  think  of  it !  Grod  sent  you 
here  at  my  call ;  and  the  poor  thing  has  died  in 
peace.  My  old  heart  would  turn  against  me,  if  I 
should  allow  you  to  bury  her!  the  midnight 
thought  would  torment  me  !  She  has  been  a  dear 
creature  to  me,  and  died  such  a  sweet  death.  I 
shall  make  her  shroud  with  my  own  hands ;  I 
shall  take  her  ring-money  to  buy  her  coffin  ;  I 
shall  pay  for  her  grave ;  and  then,  as  I  believe  her 


140  THE     WELSH     WOMAN 

dear  spirit  has  become  a  ministering  angel,  I  shall 
hope  she  will  eome  to  me  in  the  nights,  and  carry 
my  prayer  back  to  her  Lord." 

She  had  it  all  in  her  own  way  ;  and  we  buried 
her  with  a  tenderness  of  grief,  which  I  am  sure 
has  seldom  been  equalled. 


If  this  was  a  conversion  at  all,  it  was  a  death- 
bed conversion.  A  suspicion  or  fear  may  justly  at- 
tach to  such  instances  perhaps  ;  and  persons  wiser 
than  myself  have  doubted  the  propriety  of  publish- 
ing them  to  the  world.  But  the  instance  of  the 
thief  on  the  cross  is  published  to  us  ;  and  if  the 
grace  of  G-od  does  sometimes  reach  an  impenitent 
sinner  on  the  bed  of  death  ;  why  should  we  greatly 
fear  the  influence  of  its  true  history  ?  The  wicked 
may  indeed  abuse  it,  as  they  abuse  everything 
that  is  good  and  true  ;  but  it  must  be  an  amazing- 
ly foolish  abuse,  if  on  account  of  a  few  such  in- 
stances, they  are  induced  to  neglect  religion,  till 
they  come  to  die.  It  is  very  rare  that  a  death-bed 
is  like  this. 

I  deemed  it  very  important  to  convince  her  it 
was  not  too  late  to  seek  the  Lord ;  and  I  found  it 
a  very  difficult  thing.  The  truth,  that  it  was 
not  too  late,  came  into  conflict  with  the  unbelief 
and  deceitfulness  of  her  heart.     It  seems  to  me, 


AND     HER     TENANT.  141 

that  we  ought  not  to  limit  the  Holy  One  of  Israel, 
leading  sinners  to  believe,  that  even  a  death-bed 
lies  beyond  hope.  Truth  is  always  safe ;  error, 
never.  And  if  there  is  good  evidence  of  a  death-bed 
conversion,  why  should  it  be  kept  out  of  sight  ? 

And  yet  it  is  no  wonder  that  careful  minds  are 
led  to  distrust  sick-bed  repentance.  It  seldom 
holds  out.  Manifestly,  it  is  commonly  nothing  but 
deception.  Health  brings  back  the  former  im- 
piety, or  that  which  is  worse. 

It  does  not  appear,  that  the  dying  thief  knew 
anything  about  the  Saviour,  till  he  was  dying ; 
and  this  woman  seems  to  have  been  like  him. 
And  what  a  lesson  of  reproof  to  Christians,  that 
this  woman,  living  for  twenty  years  among  them, 
and  in  the  sight  of  five  or  six  Christian  churches, 
should  "  never  have  been  inside  of  a  church  in  her 
life,"  and  that  "  nobody  asked  her  to  go."  Year 
after  year,  she  Was  in  habits  of  intimacy  with 
those,  who  belonged  in  Christian  families  ;  she  as- 
sociated with  the  children  of  Christian  parents  ; 
and  yet,  she  never  had  a  Bible — she  never  read 
the  Bible — she  never  was  exhorted  to  seek  the 
Lord  !  And  probably  she  would  have  died  as  she 
had  lived ;  had  not  divine  Providence  sent  her,  in 
her  poverty,  to  be  the  tenant  of  the  "  old  lady,"  who 
loved  her  so  well.  Oh !  how  many  are  likely  to 
die  soon,  with  no  "  old  lady"  to  bring  them  the 
Bible,  and  pray  for  them  in  faith  and  love  ! 


THE  HOLY  SPIRIT  RESISTED. 


As  I  was  riding  through  a  village,  in  which  I 
was  almost  a  stranger ;  I  saw  a  number  of  young 
people  entering  a  school-house.  The  clergyman 
of  the  place  was  standing  by  the  door.  He  beck- 
oned to  me  to  stop.  He  told  me  he  had  appointed 
a  meeting  for  inquiry,  and  was  surprised  to  find  so 
many  assembling.  He  wished  me  to  go  in,  and 
have  some  conversation  with  those  who  were  there. 
I  asked  to  be  excused,  as  I  was  on  my  way  to  ful- 
fil an  engagement,  where  I  must  be  punctually  at 
the  time.  He  would  not  excuse  me,  I  must  stop, 
if  it  were  "  only  for  five  minutes." 

He  conducted  me  into  a  room,  where  were  fif- 
teen young  women  ; — "  Say  something"  said  he  ; 
"  to  every  one  of  them."  I  did  ;  though  I  was  not 
in  the  room  ten  minutes.  At  the  same  time,  he 
was  conversing  with  some  young  men  in  another 
apartment. 

As  I  passed  from  one  to  another,  in  this  rapid 


THE     HOLY     SPIRIT     RESISTED.  143 

conversation ;    I    came    to    a   young   lady    about 
twenty  years  of  #ge,  whose  countenance  indicated 
great  agitation  of  feeling.     Said  I ;   "Do  you  feel, 
that  you  are  a  sinner,  unreconciled  to  Gfod  ?" 
"  Yes,  I  do ;  I  am  a  lost  sinner  /" 
"  Can  you  save  yourself?" 
"  None  but  Christ  can  save  me  /" 
"  Why  then  don't  you  come  to  him?     He  is 
willing  to  save  you ;  he  loves  to  save  sinners  like 
you." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not  know  !  my  heart  is  hard  and 
wicked  ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  never  shall  be  saved  !" 
—She  burst  into  tears,  which  she  had  seemed 
anxious  to  suppress ;  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
handkerchief. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  such  deep  trouble 
of  mind?" 

"  For  three  weeks,"  said  she,  sobbing  aloud. 
"  Then,  for  three  weeks  you  have  done  nothing 
but  resist  the  Holy  Spirit  /" 

I  left  her  and  passed  to  the  next  individual.  In 
a  few  minutes  I  left  the  room,  and  went  on  my 
way. 

The  next  week,  as  I  was  riding  in  a  carriage 
alone,  a  few  miles  from  the  same  village ;  I  saw 
before  me  a  young  gentleman  and  a  young  lady  in 
a  carriage,  riding  in  an  opposite  direction ;  and  I 
was  just  meeting  them.  She  appeared  to  be  try- 
ing to  induce  him  to  stop ;  and  he  did  not  seem  to 


L44  T  HE     HOLY     SPIRIT     RESISTED. 

understand  what  she  wanted.  She  finally  took 
hold  of  the  reins  herself,  stopped  the  horse,  and 
motioning  to  me,  I  reined  up  also ;  and  we  sat  in 
our  carriages,  face  to  face,  and  close  together. — 
"  That  was  true — that  was  true,  sir,"  said  she. 

"  What  was  true  ?"  said  I.  (For  I  did  not  know 
who  she  was,  though  I  recognized  her  face  as  one 
that  I  had  seen.) 

"  What  you  told  me  at  the  inquiry  meeting 
that  morning ;  that  I  had  done  nothing  for  three 
weeks  .but  resist  the  Holy  Spirit.  That  expression 
pierced  my  very  heart.  I  did  not  believe  it.  I 
thought  I  was  yielding  to  the  Holy  Spirit,  because 
I  was  anxious,  and  had  begun  to  seek  the  Lord ; 
and  I  thought  you  was  most  cruel  to  speak  to  me 
so.  I  did  not  believe  you,  but  I  could  not  get  the 
idea  out  of  my  mind.  It  clung  to  me  night  and 
day,  '  for  three  weeks  you  have  done  nothing  but 
resist  the  Holy  Spirit.'  That  expression  opened 
my  eyes.  And  I  could  not  let  you  pass  us  here, 
without  stopping  to  tell  you  how  much  I  thank 
you  for  it." 

She  said  this  very  rapidly,  her  eyes  swimming 
with  tears,  and  her  countenance  beaming  with  joy. 
Her  whole  heart  seemed  to  be  embarked  in  what 
she  was  saying. 

By  this  time  I  fully  recognized  her,  and  recol- 
lected my  former  hurried  interview  with  her.  For 
a  few  minutes  I  conversed  with  her,  as  we  sat  in 


THE     HOLY     SPIRIT     RESISTED.  145 

our  carriages.  She  hoped  that  God  had  given  her 
a  new  heart.  She  was  at  peace  not  only,  but  full 
of  joy.  "Oh  I  am  happy,"  said  she,  "I  am  so 
happy.  You  opened  my  eyes.  You  told  me  just 
the  truth.  I  thought  you  was  a  cruel  man.  I 
wanted  you  to  explain  yourself;  but  you  would 
not  stop  to  hear  me.  As  I  reflected  on  what  you 
said,  I  hated  you  with  all  my  heart.  But  the 
words  would  come  up,  '  for  three  weeks  you  have 
done  nothing  but  resist  the  Holy  Spirit.'  It  seems 
to  me  now,  that  if  you  had  said  anything  else,  or 
made  any  explanation  as  I  wanted  you  to  ;  I 
should  not  have  been  led  to  Christ. — I  can  never 
thank  you  enough  for  the  words  which  showed  me 
my  very  heart." 

I  have  not  seen  her  since. — I  learned,  that  a  few 
weeks  afterwards  she  made  a  public  profession  of 
religion.  Her  pastor  told  me,  that  he  esteemed 
her  highly,  as  one  of  the  most  intelligent  and  ac- 
complished of  his  flock.  She  belonged  to  a  very 
excellent  family.  She  possessed  a  discriminating 
mind  ;  and  did  she  err  in  thinking,  that  for  three 
weeks  she  had  done  nothing  but  resist  the  Holy 
Spirit  ? 

n 


THE  HEART  PROMISED. 


One  of  the  most  perplexing,  and  to  me  distress- 
ing instances  of  continued  and  ineffectual  serious- 
ness, that  I  have  ever  known,  was  that  of  a  young 
woman,  who  seemed  to  me  to  be  as  near  perfec- 
tion, as  any  person  that  I  have  ever  known.  She 
was  about  twenty  years  old,  of  good  mind,  and 
more  than  ordinary  intelligence.  Everybody  that 
knew  her  loved  her.  She  had  been  religiously 
educated,  and  was  of  a  very  sober  and  thoughtful 
disposition,  though  uniformly  cheerful.  She  be- 
came interested  on  the  subject  of  religion,  and 
attended  the  meeting  for  religious  inquiry,  week 
after  week.  In  personal  conversation  with  her  at 
her  house,  I  aimed  repeatedly  to  remove  all  her 
difficulties  of  mind,  and  explain  to  her  the  way 
of  salvation.  She  appeared  to  understand  and  be- 
lieve all  that  was  said  to  her.  Her  convictions  of 
sin  seemed  to  be  clear  -and  deep.  That  she  could 
be  justified  only  through  faith  in  Christ,  she  had 


THE     HEART     PROMISED.  147 

no  doubt.  Of  his  power  and  readiness  to  save 
her,  if  she  would  come  to  him,  she  had  not  a 
doubt.  She  deeply  felt  that  she  needed  the  aids 
of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  seemed  to  realize  with 
peculiar  solemnity,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  was 
striving  with  her.  Her  seriousness  continued  for 
weeks  ;  and  while  others  around  her  were  led  to 
rejoicing  in  the  Lord,  her  mind  remained  without 
peace  or  hope.  I  exercised  all  my  skill  to  ascer- 
tain her  hindrances,  to  show  her  the  state  she  was 
in,  and  lead  her  to  Christ.  It  was  all  in  vain. 
There  she  stood,  left  almost  alone.  Her  condition 
distressed  me.  I  had  said  everything  to  her  that 
I  could  think  of,  which  I  supposed  adapted  to  her 
state  of  mind.  I  had  referred  her  to  numerous 
passages  in  the  Bible,  and  explained  them  to  her 
most  carefully.  She  had  no  objections  to  make. 
She  heard  all  I  said  to  her,  with  apparent  docility 
and  manifest  thankfulness ;  and  yet,  she  said  she 
was  as  far  from  the  kingdom  of  heaven  as  ever, 
her  heart  was  unmoved,  and  enmity  against  Grod. 

Just  at  this  period,  I  accidentally  met  her  one 
morning  in  the  street.  I  was  sorry  to  meet  her, 
for  I  thought  I  must  say  something  to  her  ;  I  had 
said  all,  and  I  knew  not  what  to  say.  Offering 
her  my  hand,  I  asked,  "  Sarah,  have  you  given 
your  heart  to  G-od  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  she  tremulously. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  ?" 


148  THE     HEART     PROMISED. 

"  I  know,  I  ought  to." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  do  so  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do." 

11  Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  do  it  to-day  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Then  will  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will"  said  she,  emphatically. 

"  Grood-bye,"  said  I ;   and  instantly  left  her. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  I  saw  her,  and  she 
had  wanted  very  much  to  see  me  ;  she  wanted  to 
tell  me  how  she  felt,  and  how  she  had  been  affect- 
ed. She  said,  that  she  had  never  felt  so  before, — 
that  her  mind  was  at  rest — that  she  now  loved 
(rod — that  his  character  and  law  appeared  to  her 
most  excellent,  worthy  of  all  admiration  and  love 
— that  she  could  now  trust  in  the  blood  of  Christ, 
and  wondered  she  had  never  done  it  before.  She 
partly  hoped,  though  she  scarcely  dared  to  hope, 
that  her  heart  was  renewed  by  the  Holy  Spirit. — 
"  But,"  said  she,  "  after  I  made  you  that  promise, 
I  would  have  given  all  the  world,  if  I  had  not 
made  it.  I  hunted  after  you  to  take  back  my 
promise ;  but  I  could  not  find  you.  The  thought 
of  it  haunted  me.  It  distressed  me  beyond 
measure.  I  wondered  at  myself  for  being  so  rash 
as  to  make  it ;  but  I  dared  not  break  it.  I  had  a 
dreadful  struggle  with  myself,  to  give  up  all  into 
the  hands  of  Grod  ;  but  I  am  glad  of  it  now." 


THE     HEART     PROMISED.  149 

"  Then  you  think,"  said  I,  "  that  you  have  done 
something  very  acceptable  to  him  ?" 

"Oh  no!  not  I!  I  have  done  nothing.  But 
I  hope  God  has  done  something  for  me.  All  1 
could  do,  was  to  tell  him  I  could  do  nothing,  and 
pray  him  to  help  me." 

She  united  with  the  church,  and  yet  honors  her 
profession. 


This  is  the  only  case,  in  which  I  have  ever  led 
any  person  to  make  such  a  promise.  I  doubt  the 
propriety  of  doing  it.  I  did  not  really  intend  it,  in 
this  instance.  I  was  led  into  it  at  the  time,  by 
the  nature  of  our  conversation,  and  the  solicitude 
I  felt  for  one,  to  whom  I  knew  not  what  to  say. 

The  resolutions  of  an  unconverted  sinner  are 
one  thing,  and  the  operations  of  the  Holy  Spirit  are 
quite  another.  They  may  coincide  indeed  ;  and 
if  such  resolutions  are  made  in  the  spirit  of  a 
humble  reliance  on  Grod,  they  may  be  beneficial : 
"  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,"  was  no  im- 
proper purpose.  But  if  such  resolutions  are  made 
in  self-reliance,  they  are  rash,  and  will  seldom  be 
redeemed.  Sarah  seems  to  have  found  herself  in- 
sufficient for  keeping  her  promise.  "  All  I  could 
do,  was  to  tell  him  I  could  do  nothing,  and  pray 
him  to  help  me." 

13* 


150  THE     HEART     PROMISED. 

If  any  one  thinks  that  he  has  turned  to  Grod 
without  the  special  aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit ;  it  is 
probable,  that  he  has  never  turned  to  God  at  all. 
Certainly,  he  cannot  sing,  "  He  sent  from  above  : 
he  took  me,  he  drew  me  out  of  many  waters  ;  he 
delivered  me  from  my  strong  enemy." 


FIXED   DESPAIR. 


There  was  in  my  congregation,  at  one  time,  a 
woman  about  forty  years  of  age,  who  was  a  sub- 
ject of  wonder  to  me.  She  was  one  of  the  most 
intelligent  and  well  educated  of  the  people ;  she 
had  been  brought  up  from  her  childhood  in  the 
family  of  a  clergyman,  as  his  daughter ;  she  was 
very  attentive  to  the  observance  of  the  Sabbath ; 
she  was  never  absent  from  her  seat  in  the  church. 
As  the  mother  of  a  family,  she  had  few  equals. 
Everybody  respected  her.  But  she  was  not  a 
member  of  the  church.  And  whenever  I  had  en- 
deavored to  call  her  attention  to  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion, she  was  so  reserved,  that  I  could  not  even 
conjecture  what  was  her  particular  state  of  mind. 
I  was  told  that  she  never  spake  to  any  one,  in  re- 
spect to  her  religious  feelings. 

My  ignorance  of  her  views  and  feelings  led  me 
to  be  in  doubt,  what  to  say  to  her.  I  felt  that  I 
was  groping  in  the  dark,  every  time  I  attempted 


152  FIXED    DESPAIR. 

to  converse  with  her.  Sometimes  I  suspected, 
that  she  secretly  indulged  a  hope  in  Christ,  though 
she  told  me  to  the  contrary.  At  other  times,  I 
suspected,  that  she  was  relying  upon  her  perfectly 
moral  life  for  salvation,  though  she  denied  this 
also. 

I  could  not  persuade  her  to  seek  the  Lord  ;  nor 
could  I  ascertain  what  was  her  hindrance.  And  I 
was  the  more  surprised  at  this,  on  account  of  the 
profound  respect  which  she  appeared  to  have  for 
religion  ;  and  her  deep  solemnity  whenever  I  spoke 
to  her  on  the  subject.  I  had  hoped,  that  by  con- 
versation with  her  I  might  get  a  glimpse  of  her 
heart,  that  the  peculiarity  of  her  state  of  mind 
would  casually  become  manifest ;  and  thus  I 
should  learn  what  it  would  be  best  for  me  to  say 
to  her.  But  she  was  too  reserved  for  this.  After 
several  trials  I  was  still  in  the  dark.  I  did  not 
know  what  she  thought  or  felt — what  it  was,  that 
kept  her  from  attending  to  her  salvation. 

I  called  upon  her,  one  day,  and  frankly  told  her 
my  embarrassment  about  her.  I  mentioned  her 
uniform  taciturnity,  my  motive  in  aiming  to  over- 
come it,  my  supposition  that  some  error  kept  her 
from  religion,  and  my  inability  even  to  conjecture 
what  it  was.  I  said  to  her,  that  I  had  not  a 
doubt ,  there  was  something  locked  up  in  her  own 
mind,  which  she  never  whispered  to  me.  She 
seemed  very  much  surprised  at  this  declaration ; 


FIXED     DESPAIR.  153 

and  I  instantly  asked  her,  if  it  was  not  so.  With 
some  reluctance  she  confessed  it  was.  And  then, 
after  no  little  urgency,  she  said  she  would  tell  me 
the  whole,  not  on  her  own  account,  but  that  her 
case  might  not  discourage  me  from  aiming  to  lead 
others  to  Christ. 

She  then  said,  that  her  day  of  grace  was  past — 
that  she  had  had  every  possible  opportunity  for  sal- 
vation— that  every  possible  motive  had  a  thousand 
times  been  presented  to  her — that  she  had  been 
the  subject  of  deep  convictions  and  anxiety  often — 
that  she  had  lived  through  three  remarkable  re- 
vivals of  religion,  in  which  many  of  her  com- 
panions had  been  led  to  Christ — that  she  had 
again  and  again  attempted  to  work  out  her  salva- 
tion ;  but  all  in  vain.  "  I  know  my  day  is  gone 
by,"  said  she.  "  I  am  given  over.  The  Holy 
Spirit  has  left  me." 

She  spake  this  in  a  decided  manner,  solemnly 
and  coldly,  unmoved  as  a  rock !  It  surprised 
me.  And  as  I  was  silently  thinking  for  a  moment, 
how  I  could  best  remove  her  error  ;  she  went  on  to 
say,  that  she  had  never  before  now  mentioned  this, 
for  a  number  of  years — that  she  fully  believed  in 
the  reality  of  experimental  religion — that  she  be- 
lieved all  that  she  had  ever  heard  me  preach  ;  ex- 
cept when  once  or  twice,  I  had  spoken  of  religious 
despair- — that,  as  her  day  of  grace  was  past,  she 
did  not  wish  to  have  her  mind  troubled  on  the  sub- 


154  FIXED     DESPAIR. 

ject  of  religion  at  all — and  asked  me  to  say  noth- 
ing more  to  her  about  it. 

I  inquired  how  long  she  had  been  in  this  state 
of  mind.  She  told  me  she  had  known  for  eighteen 
years,  that  there  was  no  salvation  for  her.  I  in- 
quired if  she  ever  prayed.  She  said  she  had  not 
prayed  in  eighteen  years.  I  inquired  if  she  did 
not  feel  unhappy  to  be  in  such  a  state.  She  said 
she  seldom  thought  of  it — it  would  do  no  good — 
and  she  never  intended  to  think  of  it  again.  I 
asked  : — 

"  Do  you  believe  the  heart  is  deceitful  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  know  it." 

"  It  may  be,  then,  that  your  wicked  heart  has 
deceived  you,  in  respect  to  your  day  of  grace.''' 

This  idea  appeared  to  stagger  her,  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  but  she  replied, 

"No;  I  am  not  deceived." 

"  Yes  ;  you  are." 

"  No ;  I  am  not.  Nothing  can  save  me  now : 
and  I  do  not  wish  to  have  my  mind  disturbed  by 
any  more  thought  about  it." 

"  Why  do  you  attend  church  ?" 

"  Only  to  set  a  good  example.  I  believe  in  re- 
ligion as  firmly  as  you  do ;  and  wish  my  children 
to  be  Christians." 

"  Do  you  pray  for  them  ?" 

"  No  ;  prayer  from  me  would  not  be  heard." 

"  Madam,"  said  I,    emphatically;   "  you  are  in 


FIXED     DESPAIR.  155 

an  error.  I  know  you  are.  And  I  can  convince 
you  of  it.  If  you  will  hear  me,  lend  me  your 
mind,  and  speak  frankly  to  me,  and  tell  me  the 
grounds  on  which  your  despair  rests,  I  will  con- 
vince you,  that  you  are  entirely  deceived.  I  can- 
not do  it  now.  It  would  take  too  long.  You  have 
so  long  been  in  this  state,  and  have  fortified  your 
error  by  so  many  other  deceptions ;  that  it  will 
take  some  days  to  demolish  the  defences  you  have 
heaved  up  around  you.  But  I  can  do  it.  If  your 
mind  will  adhere  to  a  thing  once  proved  to  you — 
if  when  a  thing  is  fixed,  your  mind  will  let  it  stay 
fixed,  and  not  just  have  the  same  doubt  after  the 
demonstration,  that  it  had  before  it ;  I  am  per- 
fectly certain  you  may  be  led  to  see  your  error. 
May  I  come  to  see  you  again  about  it  ?" 

"  I  had  rather  not  see  you.  It  will  do  no  good. 
It  will  only  make  me  miserable.  I  did  not  intend 
to  tell  you  how  I  felt ;  but  when  you  found  out, 
that  something  was  concealed,  I  would  not  deceive 
fou.  But  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  about  it.  My 
lay  of  grace  is  past  forever." 

"  No,  it  is  not"  said  I,  most  emphatically. 
u  Your  deceitful  heart  has  only  seized  on  that 
Ilea,  as  an  excuse  for  not  coming  to  repentance. 
— Allow  me,  at  least,  to  come  and  see  you." 

"  I  had  rather  not,  sir." 

"  Madam,  you  must !  7"  cannot  leave  you  so  ! 
1  will  not !     I  love  you  too  well  to  do  it.     I  ask  it 


156  FIXED     DESPAIR. 

as  a  personal  favor  to  myself ;  and  I  shall  not  think 
you  have  treated  me  politely,  if  you  refuse  it. 
May  I  see  you  a  little  while  to-morrow  ?" 

"  I  will  see  you, — if  you  so  much  desire  it." 

"  I  thank  you,  my  dear  lady.  You  have  greatly 
gratified  me.  You  will  yet  believe  what  I  have 
said  to  you.  I  know  you  can  be  saved.  And 
you  know  me  well  enough  to  know,  that  I  am  not 
the  man  to  make  such  strong  declarations  rashly. 
All  I  ask  is  the  opportunity  to  convince  you.  I 
will  see  you  to-morrow." 

In  all  this  conversation,  she  seemed  as  unmoved 
as  a  stone.  She  did  not  shed  a  tear,  or  heave  a 
sigh.  She  could  talk  about  the  certainty  of  her 
eternal  misery,  as  if  her  heart  were  ice. 

The  next  day  when  I  called,  I  asked  to  know 
the  reasons  or  evidences  on  which  her  dreadful 
opinion  rested.  She  told  me  one  after  another, 
referring  to  many  texts  of  scripture  ;  and  did  it 
with  a  coldness  which  made  me  shudder.  Of  the 
certainty  of  her  eternal  enmity  to  Grod,  and  her 
eternal  misery,  she  reasoned  so  coolly,  that  I  al- 
most felt  I  was  listening  to  words  from  the  lips  of 
a  corpse  ! 

Perceiving  that  she  would  probably  decline  see- 
ing me  again,  and  wanting  time  to  study  her  case 
more  carefully,  I  suddenly  took  leave  of  her.  I 
had  expected  the  old  affair  of  the  "  unpardonable 


FIXED      DESPAIR.  157 

sin,"  or  "  sin  against  the  Holy  Grhost ;"  but  I 
found  a  far  more  difficult  matter. 

I  called  again.  Evidently  she  was  sorry  to  see 
me.  But  I  gave  her  no  time  to  make  any  objec- 
tions. I  desired  her  to  listen  to  me,  and  not  yield 
her  assent  to  what  I  was  going  to  say,  if  she 
could  reasonably  avoid  it.  I  then  took  up  her 
evidences  of  being  forever  given  over  of  (rod,  be- 
ginning with  the  weakest  of  them ;  and  in  about 
an  hour  had  disposed  of  several  in  such  a  way 
that  she  acknowledged  her  deception  "  in  respect 
to  them."  "  But,"  says  she,  "  there  are  stronger 
ones  left." 

"We  will  attend  to  them  hereafter,"  said  I. 
"  But  remember,  you  have  found  your  mistake  in 
respect  to  some  ;  therefore,  it  is  possible  you  may 
be  mistaken  in  respect  to  others." — This  remark 
was  the  first  thing  that  appeared  to  stagger  her 
old  opinion.  She  said  nothing  ;  but  evidently  her 
confidence  was  shaken. 

I  saw  her  time  after  time,  about  once  a  week, 
for  five  or  six  weeks ;  examined  all  her  reasons 
for  thinking  her  day  of  grace  gone  by,  except  one, 
and  convinced  her  they  were  false.  Evidently 
she  had  become  intellectually  interested.  There 
was  but  one  point  left.  She  had  never  in  all  this 
time  expressed  a  wish  to  see  me,  or  asked  me  to 
call  again.  I  now  called  her  attention  summarily 
to  the  ground  we  had  gone  over,  and  how  she  had 

14 


158  •  FIXED    DESPAIR. 

found  all  her  refuges  of  lies  swept  away,  save  one, 
as  she  had  herself  acknowledged ;  and  if  that 
were  gone  she  would  think  her  salvation  possible  ; 
— and  then  asked  her  if  she  wished  to  see  me 
again. 

She  replied  that  her  opinion  was  unchanged ; 
but  that  she  should  like  to  hear  what  I  had  to 
say  about  this  remaining  point,  which,  (as  she 
truly  said,)  I  had  avoided  so  often. 

I  called  the  next  day.  I  took  up  the  one  point 
left — this  last  item  which  doomed  her  to  despair  ; 
and  as  I  examined  it,  reasoning  with  her,  and 
asking  if  she  thought  me  right,  from  step  to  step 
as  I  went  on,  the  intensity  of  her  thought  became 
painful  to  me.  She  gazed  upon  me  with  unutter- 
able astonishment.  Her  former  cold  and  stone- 
like appearance  was  gone ;  her  bosom  heaved 
with  emotion,  and  her  whole  frame  seemed  agita- 
ted with  a  new  kind  of  life.  To  see  the  dreadful 
fixedness  of  despair  melting  away  from  her  coun- 
tenance, and  the  dawnings  of  inceptive  hope  tak- 
ing its  place,  was  a  new  and  strange  thing  to  me. 
It  looked  like  putting  life  into  a  corpse.  As  my 
explanation  and  argument  drew  towards  the 
close,  she  turned  pale  as  death.  She  almost  ceas- 
ed to  breathe.  And  when  I  had  finished,  and  in 
answer  to  my  question  she  confessed,  that  she  had 
no  reason  to  believe  her  day  of  grace  was  past, — 
instantly  she  looked  as  if  she  had  waked  up  in  a 


FIXED     DESPAIR.  159 

new  world.  The  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes  in  a 
torrent — she  clasped  her  hands — sprung  from  her 
seat,  and  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room, 
exclaiming,  "  I  can  be  saved  !  I  can  be  saved  !  I 
can  be  saved !"  She  was  so  entirely  overcome, 
that  I  thought  she  would  faint,  or  her  reason  give 
way.  I  dared  not  leave  her.  I  said  nothing,  but 
remained  till  she  became  more  composed,  and 
took  my  leave  with  a  silent  bow. 

The  next  Sunday  evening,  she  was  at  the  in- 
quiry meeting.  She  appeared  like  other  awakened 
sinners,  nothing  remarkable  about  her,  except  her 
very  manifest  determination  to  seek  the  Lord  with 
all  her  heart. 

In  about  three  weeks,  she  became  one  of  the 
happiest  creatures  in  hope,  that  I  ever  saw.  She 
afterwards  united  with  the  church,  and  yet  lives 
a  happy  and  decided  believer. 


The  gospel  is  addressed  to  hope.  Despair  must 
always  be  deaf  to  it.  Entire  despair  is  incompat- 
ible with  seeking  Grod.  Despair  cannot  pray. 
The  last  effort  of  the  devil  seems  to  be,  to  drive 
sinners  to  despair.  "  We  are  saved  by  hope,"  says 
the  apostle 


160  FIXED     DESPAIR. 

Few  errors  are  harmless.  None  are  safe.  Truth 
is  never  injurious.  And  I  can  have  no  sympa- 
thy with  those  ministers,  who  think  an  error  may 
do  an  impenitent  sinner  good.  Tricks  are  not 
truth. 


TOTAL   DEPRAVITY. 


About  to  call  upon  a  young  woman,  to  whom  I 
had  sometimes  spoken  on  the  subject  of  religion, 
but  who  uniformly  appeared  very  indifferent ;  I 
began  to  consider  what  I  should  say  to  her.  I  re- 
collected, that,  although  she  had  always  been  po- 
lite to  me,  yet  she  evidently  did  not  like  me  ;  and 
therefore  I  deemed  it  my  duty,  if  possible,  not  to 
allow  her  dislike  to  me,  to  influence  her  mind 
against  religion.  I  recollected  also,  that  I  had 
heard  of  her  inclination  towards  another  denomina- 
tion, whose  religious  sentiments  were  very  differ- 
ent from  my  own  ;  and  I  thought  therefore,  that  I 
must  take  care  not  to  awaken  prejudices,  but  aim 
to  reach  her  conscience  and  her  heart.  The  most 
of  her  relatives  and  friends  were  members  of  my 
church,  she  had  been  religiously  educated,  was  a 
very  regular  attendant  upon  divine  worship  ;  and 
I  knew,  therefore,  that  she  must  have  considerable 
intellectual  knowledge,  eto.  the  subject  of  religion. 


162  TOTAL    DEPRAVITY. 

But  she  was  a  gay  young  woman,  loved  amuse- 
ments and  thoughtless  society  ;  and  I  supposed  she 
would  be  very  reluctant  to  yield  any  personal  at- 
tention to  her  salvation,  lest  it  should  interfere 
with  her  pleasures.  And  beyond  all  this,  I  had 
heard,  that  she  possessed  a  great  share  of  independ- 
ence, and  the  more  her  friends  had  urged  her  to  at- 
tend to  her  salvation,  the  more  she  seemed  resolved 
to  neglect  it. 

J  rang  the  bell,  inquired  for  her,  and  she  soon 
met  me  in  the  parlor.  I  immediately  told  her  for 
what  purpose  I  had  called ;  and  asked  whether 
she  was  willing  to  talk  with  me  on  the  subject  of 
her  religion.     She  replied  : — 

"  I  am  willing  to  talk  with  you ;  but  I  don't 
think  as  you  do,  about  religion." 

"  I  do  not  ask  you  to  think  as  I  do.  I  may  be 
wrong  ;  but  the  word  of  (rod  is  right.  I  have  not 
come  here  to  intrude  my  opinions  upon  you,  but  to 
induce  you  to  act  agreeably  to  your  own." 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  (with  a  very  significant  toss 
of  the  head,)  "  you  all  say  so.  But  if  anybody 
ventures  to  differ  from  you,  then  they  are  i  here- 
tics?  and  '  reprobates.'1 " 

"  I  beg  pardon,  Miss  S. — I  really  do  not  think 
you  can  say  that  of  meP 

"  Well — I  mean — mother,  and  the  rest  of  them; 
and  I  suppose  you  are  just  like  them.     If  I  do  dif- 


TOTAL     DEPRAVITY.  163 

fer  from  you,  I  think  I  might  be  let  alone,  and  left 
to  my  own  way." 

"  Most  certainly,"  said  I,  "if  your  own  way  is 
right." 

"  Well,"  says  she,  "  I  am  a  Unitarian." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it ;  I  did  not  know  as 
you  were  anything." 

"I  mean,"  said  she,  "that  I  think  more  like 
the  Unitarians,  than  like  you." 

"  I  doubt  it,"  said  I ;  "  but,  no  matter.  Never 
mind  what  /  think.  /  am  no  rule  for  you.  I  do 
not  ask  you  to  think  as  I  do.  Let  all  that  go. 
You  may  call  me  fool,  or  bigot,  or — " 

"You  are  no  fool ;  but  I  think  you  are  a 
bigot"  says  she. 

"  Very  well,"  said  I ;  "I  am  happy  to  find  you 
so  frank.     And  you — " 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  blushing,  "  I  did  not  mean  to 
say  that;  indeed  I  did  not.  That  is  too  impu- 
dent." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  I.     "  It  is  just  right." 

"Well,"  said  she,  "it  is  true  that  I  think  so; 
but  it  was  not  polite  to  say  it." 

"  I  thank  you  for  saying  it.  But  no  matter 
what  i"  am.  I  wish  to  ask  you  about  yourself 
first ;  and  then  you  may  say  anything  to  me  that 
you  please  to  say. — Do  you  believe  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Yes  ;— to  be  sure  I  do  !"     (Tartly.) 

"  Are  you  aiming  to  live  according  to  it  ?     For 


164  TOTAL     DEPRAVITY. 

example,  are  you  daily  praying  to  Grod  to  pardon 
and  save  you  ?" 

"  No  !"  said  she  ;   (with  an  impudent  accent.) 

"  Does  not  the  Bible  command  you  to  pray  ? 
1  to  seek  the  Lord  while  he  may  be  found,  and  call 
upon  him  while  he  is  near  V  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  but  I  don't  believe  in  total 
depravity." 

"  No  matter.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  believe  in  it 
But  I  suppose  you  believe  you  are  a  sinner  ?" 

"  Why,  yes."     (Impatiently.) 

"  And  need  Grod's  forgiveness  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Are  you  seeking  for  it  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Ought  you  not  to  be  seeking  for  it  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  suppose  so." 

"  "Well,  then,  will  you  begin,  without  any  more 
delay  ?  and  act  as  you  know  you  ought,  in  order 
to  be  saved  ?" 

"  You  and  I  don't  agree,"  says  she. 

"  No  matter  for  that.  But  we  agree  in  one 
thing :  I  think  exactly  as  you  do,  that  you  ought 
to  seek  the  Lord.  But  you  don't  agree  with  pour- 
self.  Your  course  disagrees  with  your  conscience. 
You  are  not  against  me,  but  against  your  own 
reason  and  good  sense — against  your  known  duty, 
while  you  lead  a  prayerless  life.  I  am  surprised 
that  a  girl  of  your  good  mind  will  do  so.     You 


TOTAL     DEPRAVITY.  165 

are  just  yielding  to  the  desires  of  a  wicked  and 
deceitful  heart.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  think  as  I 
think,  or  feel  as  I  feel ;  I  only  ask  you  to  act  ac- 
cording to  the  Bible  and  your  own  good  sense.  — Is 
there  anything  unreasonable,  or  unkind,  any 
bigotry  in  asking  this  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir.  But  I  am  sorry  I  called  you  a 
bigot." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it.  I  respect  you  for  it.  You 
spoke  as  you  felt. — But  let  that  pass.  I  just 
want  you  to  attend  to  religion  in  your  own  way, 
and  according  to  (rod's  word.  I  did  not  come  here 
to  abuse  you,  or  domineer  over  you,  but  to  reason 
with  you.  And  now,  suffer  me  to  ask  you,  if  you 
think  it  right  and  safe  to  neglect  salvation,  as  you 
are  doing  ?     I  know  you  will  answer  me  frankly." 

"  No  ;  I  do  not  think  it  is." 

"  Have  you  long  thought  so  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  have,  a  good 
while." 

"  Indeed !  and  how  came  you  still  to  neglect  ?" 

"  I  donH  know  !  But  they  keep  talking  to  me, 
— a  kind  of  scolding  I  call  it ;  and  they  talk  in 
such  a  way,  that  I  am  provoked,  and  my  mind 
turns  against  religion.  If  they  would  talk  to  me 
as  you  do,  and  reason  with  me,  and  not  be  ding- 
ing at  me,  and  treating  me  as  if  I  were  a  fool, 
I  should  not  feel  so." 

Said  I,  "  They  may  be  unwise  perhaps,  but  they 


166  TOTAL      DEPRAVITY. 

mean  well ;  and  you  ought  to  remember,  that  re- 
ligion is  not  to  be  blamed  for  their  folly. — And 
now,  my  dear  girl,  let  me  ask  you  seriously ; — 
will  you  attend  to  this  matter  of  your  salvation  as 
wTell  as  you  .can,  according  to  the  word  of  Grod  and 
with  prayer,  and  endeavor  to  be  saved  ?  Will  you 
do  it,  without  any  farther  delay  ?  If  you  are  not 
disposed  to  do  so ;  if  you  think  it  best,  and  right, 
and  reasonable  to  neglect  it ;  if  you  do  not  wish 
me  to  say  anything  more  to  you  about  it ;  then, 
say  so,  and  I  will  urge  you  no  more :  I  shall  be 
sorry,  but  I  will  be  still.  I  am  not  going  to 
annoy  you,  or  treat  you  impolitely. — What  do 
you  say  ?  shall  I  leave  you  and  say  no  more  ?" 
"  I  don't  wish  you  to  leave  me." 
"  Well,  do  you  wish,  to  seek  the  Lord  ?" 
"  I  wish  to  be  saved"  said  she.  "  But  I  never 
can  believe  in  total  depravity.  The  doctrine  dis- 
gusts me.  It  sounds  so  much  like  cant.  I  never 
will  believe  it.  I  abhor  it.  And  I  won't  believe  it." 
11  Perhaps  not,"  said  I.  "  I  do  not  ask  you  to 
believe  it.  But  I  ask  you  to  repent  of  sin  now — 
to  improve  your  day  of  grace,  and  get  ready  for 
death  and  heaven.  I  ask  you  to  love  the  world 
supremely  no  longer — to  deny  yourself  and  follow 
Christ,  as  you  know  you  ought  to  do.  When  you 
sincerely  try  to  do  these  things ;  you  will  begin  to 
find  out  something  about  your  heart,  that  you  do 
no'1:  know  now." 


TOTAL     DEPRAVITY.  167 

"  But  I  don't  like  doctrines  !  I  want  a  prac- 
tical religion !" 

"  That  practical  religion  is  the  very  thing  I  am 
urging  upon  you ;  the  practice  of  prayer — the 
practice  of  repentance — the  practice  of  self-denial 
— the  practice  of  loving  and  serving  God  in  faith. 
I  care  no  more  about  doctrines  than  you  do,  for 
their  own  sake.  I  only  want  truth,  which  shall 
guide  you  rightly  and  safely,  and  want  you  to  fol- 
low it." 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  if  I  attempt  to  be  religious, 
I  shall  be  a  Unitarian." 

"  Be  a  Unitarian  then,  if  the  Bible  and  the  Holy 
Spirit  will  make  you  one.  Do  not  be  afraid  to 
be  a  Unitarian.  But  get  at  the  truth,  and  follow 
it,  according  to  your  own  sober  judgment.  Study 
your  Bible,  for  your  own  heart.  Get  right.  Pray 
Grod  to  direct  you.  And  never  rest,  till  you  feel, 
that  God  is  your  friend  and  you  are  his.  I  be- 
seech you  to  this ;  because  I  love  you  and  wish 
you  to  be  right  and  happy. — And  now,  my  dear 
girl,  tell  me,  will  you  try  to  do  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  loill" 

"  I  thank  you  for  that  promise.  And  I  do  trust 
Grod  will  bless  you." 

In  a  few  days  she  sent  for  me.  I  found  her 
very  sad.  She  told  me  she  was  in  trouble.  She 
had  not  found  it  so  easy  a  thing  to  be  a  Christian 
as  she  expected.     Her  heart  rebelled  and  recoiled  j 


168  TOTAL     DEPRAVITY. 

and  she  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter.  Her 
mind  would  wander.  The  world  would  intrude. 
Instead  of  "  getting  nearer  to  religion,  she  was 
getting  farther  off,  every  day."  She  wanted  to 
know,  if  other  people  felt  so,  when  they  tried  to  be 
Christians. 

I  said  but  little  to  her,  except  to  direct  her  to 
Grod's  promises,  to  those  that  seek  him  with  all 
their  heart.  She  desired  me  to  pray  with  her, 
which  I  did. — As  I  rose  to  depart ;  she  affection- 
ately entreated  me  not  to  neglect  her. 

About  ten  days  after  this,  she  sent  for  me  again. 
I  obeyed  her  summons.  She  told  me  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  that  she  never  dreamed  she  was  so 
wicked.  She  said  the  more  she  tried  to  love  Grod 
and  give  up  sin ;  the  more  her  own  heart  opposed 
her.  Her  sins  not  only  appeared  greater  ;  but  it 
seemed  to  her,  that  sinning  was  as  natural  to  her 
as  breathing.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?"  said  she  ;  "  I 
have  no  peace,  day  or  night !  My  resolutions  are 
weak  as  water." 

I  repeated  texts  of  scripture  to  her.  '  In  me  is 
thy  help.  Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and 
the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,'  (his  thoughts 
are  wrong,)  '  and  let  him  return  unto  the  Lord,  and 
he  will  have  mercy  upon  him,  and  to  our  Grod,  for 
he  will  abundantly  pardon.  Strive  to  enter  in  at 
the  strait  gate.' 

I  saw  her  several  times.     She  said  her  troubles 


TOTAL     DEPRAVITY.  169 

increased  upon  her,  temptations  came  up  every- 
day; and  it  seemed  to  her,  "there  never  was  so 
wicked  a  heart,  as  she  had  to  contend  with." 
Among  other  things,  she  said,  some  Christian  peo- 
ple would  keep  talking  to  her,  and  she  did  not 
wish  to  hear  them.  I  advised  her  to  avoid  them 
as  much  as  possible.  And  without  letting  her 
know  it,  I  privately  requested  her  officious  exhort- 
ers  to  say  nothing  to  her.  But  I  found  it  hard 
work  to  keep  them  still.  And  when  she  com- 
plained to  me  again  of  their  officious  inquiries 
about  her  feelings;  I  requested  her  to  leave  the 
room,  whenever  any  one  of  them  should  venture  on 
such  an  inquiry  again. 

She  continued  her  prayerful  attempts  after  the 
knowledge  of  salvation;  and  in  a  few  weeks  she 
found  peace  and  joy  in  believing  in  Christ.  She 
told  me  she  knew  her  entire  depravity ;  "  but," 
said  she,  "  I  never  should  have  believed  it,  if  I  had 
not  found  it  out  by  my  own  experience.  It  was 
just  as  you  told  me.  When  I  really  tried  to  be  a 
Christian,  such  as  is  described  in  the  Bible ;  I 
found  my  heart  was  all  sin  and  enmity  to  Grod. 
And  I  am  sure,  I  never  should  have  turned  to 
Christ,  if  God  had  not  shown  me  mercy.  It  was 
all  grace. 

"Now  I  believe  in  total  depravity.  But  I  learnt 
it  alone.      You  did  not  convince  me  of  it." 

"  I  never  tried,"  said  I. 


170  TOTAL     DEPRAVITY. 

"  I  know  you  didn't ;  and  it  was  well  for  me 
that  you  let  it  alone.  If  you  had  tried  to  prove  it, 
or  gone  into  a  dispute  about  Unitarianism ;  I  be- 
lieve I  should  not  have  been  led  to  my  Saviour." 

She  afterwards  made  a  public  profession  of  re- 
ligion, which  she  still  lives  to  honor. 


IGNORANCE    OF    SELF. 


In  the  time  of  a  revival  of  religion,  a  clergyman, 
not  much  known  to  me,  called  upon  me,  and  by 
invitation  preached  for  me,  at  my  regular  weekly 
lecture  in  the  evening.  I  had  mentioned  to  him 
the  existing  seriousness  among  the  people.  His 
sermon  did  not  suit  me.  He  made  careless  state- 
ments ;  seemed  to  me  to  rely  on  impressions,  more 
than  on  truth  ;  seemed  to  value  his  own  powers, 
and  to  desire  other  people  to  rely  on  theirs.  I  per- 
ceived that  he  highly  esteemed  himself,  as  "  a  re- 
vival preacher ;"  and  I  thought  he  preached  "  re- 
vival," and  prayed  "  revival,"  rather  than  religion. 

After  we  had  got  home,  and  my  clerical  friend 
had  retired  for  the  night ;  one  of  my  most  intimate 
and  confidential  friends  came  in  to  see  me,  and  in- 
quired how  I  liked  the  sermon.  I  criticised  it, 
with  some  freedom.  My  friend  then  told  me,  that 
as  she  left  the  church,  she  fell  in  company  with 
one  of  our  young  ladies,  who  had  been  serious  for 


172  IGNORANCE     OF     SELF. 

some  weeks,  and  who  said  to  her  ;  "  Oh,  that  ser. 
mon  will  do  me  good.  It  was  just  what  I  wanted. 
I  wish  our  minister  would  preach  so." 

I  felt  humbled  and  sad.  And  as  my  clerical 
friend  was  much  older  than  myself,  I  thought  it 
became  me  to  consider  more  carefully  what  he  had 
preached,  and  what  I  had  been  saying. 

But  I  noticed,  that,  from  that  time,  the  serious 
impressions  of  this  young  lady,  who  thought  "  the 
sermon  would  do  her  good,"  began  evidently  to 
diminish.  I  saw  her  often,  and  aimed  to  bring 
back  the  depth  and  solemnity  of  her  former  se- 
riousness. It  was  all  in  vain.  She  grew  more 
and  more  indifferent,  till  finally,  she  went  back  to 
the  world  entirely.  There  she  remains.  Years 
have  rolled  on  ;  but  she  remains  a  stranger  to 
Christ. 


Convicted  sinners  are  very  poor  judges  of  what 
"  will  do  them  good."  The  very  things,  which 
they  think  they  need,  are  often  the  very  things, 
which  are  snares  to  their  souls.  How  is  it  possi- 
ble for  "  the  natural  man,  who  discerneth  not  the 
things  of  the  Spirit  of  God,"  to  tell  what  will  do 
him  good  ?  He  has  no  sincere  liking  for  God,  or 
the  truth  of  God.  And  if  likings  are  to  be  con- 
sulted, the  truth  must  often  be  sacrificed.     It  is 


IGNORANCE     OF     SELF.  173 

better  to  trouble  his  conscience,  than  to  please  his 
heart.  A  convicted  sinner  is  the  last  person  in  the 
world  to  judge  justly,  in  regard  to  the  kind  of  in- 
struction he  needs.  He  will  seize  error  more  read- 
ily than  truth ;  and  if  his  tastes  are  consulted,  his 
soul  will  be  endangered.  In  consulting  such 
tastes,  lies  the  cunning  art  of  deceivers,  who  lead 
crowds  to  admire  them,  and  run  after  them,  and 
talk  of  them,  while  they  care  not  for  the  truth : 
il  deceiving  and  being  deceived." 

15* 


SUPERFICIAL  CONVICTION. 


There  was  much  opposition  to  religion,  at  one 
time,  among  a  few  young  men,  in  the  place  where 
I  was  settled.  It  was  in  a  season  of  revival. 
Probably  the  gospel  was  then  preached  with  more 
than  ordinary  plainness.  The  complaint  was 
made,  that  there  was  too  much  said  about  the 
justice  of  (rod,  the  terrors  of  the  Law,  and  the 
wickedness  of  the  human  heart.  They  said  that  I 
"  exaggerated,"  in  respect  to  the  danger  of  sin- 
ners, and  made  Grod  appear  as  a  terrible  and 
odious  Being ;  which  was  "  no  way  to  lead  men  to 
religion." 

Just  at  this  time,  I  was  informed,  that  some 
young  men  were  determined  to  attend  the  meeting 
in  the  evening,  with  stones  in  their  pockets  to 
stone  me  on  the  spot,  if  I  ventured  to  preach  about 
"  depravity,"  and  "  sinners'  going  to  hell."  This 
was  an  indication,  I  thought,  that  the  doctrines  of 
divine  justice  and  human  wickedness  had  alarmed 


SUPERFICIAL     CONVICTION.  175 

them,  and  that  these  arrows  ought  to  be  "  made 
sharp  in  the  heart  of  the  king's  enemies."  There- 
fore, I  preached,  that  evening,  on  these  two  points, 
the  wickedness  of  men,  and  the  anger  of  Grod 
against  the  wicked.  There  was  no  disturbance. 
Nobody  stoned  me.  The  opposers  were  present, 
and  were  seated  near  together.  In  the  first  part 
of  the  sermon,  there  was  an  occasional  whisper 
among  them,  but  they  soon  became  attentive,  and 
our  meeting  was  one  of  stillness  and  deep  solem- 
nity. 

Immediately  after  the  service,  I  attended  an  in- 
quiry meeting,  to  which  I  had  publicly  invited  all 
unconverted  sinners,  who  were  disposed  prayerfully 
to  study  divine  truth.  Some  of  the  young  men 
met  me  at  this  meeting.  "Within  a  few  months 
some  of  them  united  with  the  church.  Among 
them,  there  was  one,  who  told  me,  at  the  time  of 
his  examination  for  church  membership,  that  what 
had  been  reported  of  him  was  not  true, — that  he 
"had  not  carried  stones  in  his  pockets  prepared  to 
stone  me."  Said  he,  "I  know  my  heart  was 
wicked  enough  to  do  almost  anything,  but  it  never 
was  bad  enough  to  do  that." 

I  noticed  this  expression.  It  was  an  unusual 
thing  to  hear  such  a  remark.  Directly  the  oppo- 
site was  common.  I  therefore  examined  this 
young  man  the  more  carefully.  But  he  appeared 
so  sensible  of  his  natural  depravity,  so  humble,  so 


176  SUPERFICIAL     CONVICTION. 

docile,  and  so  determined  to  live  a  life  of  holiness, 
that  he  gained  my  confidence,  and  he  was  receiv- 
ed into  the  church.  I  thought  that  he  might  be  a 
true  believer,  and  still  his  views  of  divine  doctrine 
be  erroneous  ;  and  I  knew  very  well,  that  many 
people  regarded  me  as  too  strict  on  points  of  doc- 
trine. And  though  I  believed,  and  had  always 
acted  on  the  principle,  that  true  experimental  re- 
ligion will  always  lead  its  subjects  to  a  knowledge 
of  the  great  essential  doctrines  of  the  Christian 
system, — indeed,  that  to  experience  religion  is  just 
to  experience  these  doctrines, — I  came  to  the  con- 
clusion, that  this  principle  would  not  adjudge  him 
to  be  unfit  to  become  a  communicant. 

As  long  as  he  remained  in  the  place,  (about  two 
years,)  he  lived  apparently  a  Christian  life.  But 
after  he  removed  to  a  neighboring  city,  away  from 
his  religious  associates,  and  under  a  new  kind  of 
influences  ;  he  soon  began  to  neglect  public  wor- 
ship, violate  the  Sabbath,  and  finally  became  a 
profane  and  intemperate  man.  I  called  to  see 
him,  and  conversed  with  him.  He  was  entirely 
friendly  to  myself ;  but  he  appeared  blinded  and 
hardened.  He  said  he  did  not  think  himself  to  be 
very  wicked :  "  Indeed,"  says  he,  "I  never  did 
think  my  heart  was  so  bad  as  some  people  tell  of. 
I  never  did  much  hurt ;  and  as  to  being  so  bad 
that  I  can't  reform,  I  know  that  I  can  turn  from 
sin  when  I  please." 


SUPERFICIAL     CONVICTION.  177 

Probably  my  exertions  for  him  did  no  good. 
The  last  that  I  heard  of  him  was,  that  he  grew 
worse  and  worse,  and  would  probably  die  a  miser- 
able and  drunken  man. 


I  have  often  thought,  that  a  truly  regenerate 
man  cannot  have  any  doubt  of  the  entire  deprav- 
ity of  the  heart.  If  he  does  not  see  that,  it  is 
probable  that  he  does  not  see  his  heart.  And 
hence,  his  repentance,  his  faith  in  Christ,  and  his 
reliance  upon  the  Holy  Spirit,  will  probably,  all  of 
them,  be  only  deceptions.  My  observation  con- 
tinues to  confirm  me  more  and  more  in  the  opin- 
ion, that  to  experience  religion,  is  to  experience 
the  truth  of  the  great  doctrines  of  divine  grace. 


EXCITEMENT. 


While  Grod  was  pouring  out  his  Spirit  upon  the 
congregation  to  which  I  ministered,  and  upon 
many  other  places  around  us,  two  individuals  be- 
longing to  my  parish  went  to  a  neighboring  town 
to  attend  a  "  camp-meeting."  One  of  them  was 
a  young  man  of  about  twenty  years  of  age,  whose 
mother  and  sisters  were  members  of  the  church. 
The  other  was  a  man  of  about  twenty-six  years, 
whose  wife  and  wife's  sister  were  also  communi- 
cants with  us.  Both  of  these  men  returned  from 
that  meeting  professed  converts  to  Christ.  They 
had  gone  to  it,  as  they  told  me,  without  any  seri- 
ous impressions,  impelled  by  mere  curiosity. 
While  there  they  became  very  much  affected  ;  so 
much  so,  that  one  or  both  of  them  fell  to  the 
ground,  and  remained  prostrate  for  an  hour,  un- 
able to  stand.  They  earnestly  besought  the  people 
to  pray  for  them,  and  prayed  for  themselves.  Their 
feelings  became  entirely  changed  ;  instead  of  grief 


EXCITEMENT.  179 

and  fear,  they  were  filled  with  joy  and  delight. 
And  in  this  joyful  frame  of  mind  they  returned  home, 
not  having  been  absent  but  two  or  three  days. 

I  soon  visited  them  both,  and  conversed  with 
them  freely.  At  my  first  interview,  I  had  great 
confidence  in  their  conversion.  They  seemed  to 
me  to  be  renewed  men,  so  far  as  I  could  judge, 
from  their  exercises  of  mind.  They  appeared 
humble,  solemn,  grateful  and  happy.  In  future 
conversations  with  them,  my  mind  was  led  to  some 
distrust  of  the  reality  of  their  conversion.  They 
did  not  seem  to  me  to  have  an  experimental 
knowledge  of  the  truth,  to  such  an  extent,  as  I 
believed  a  regenerated  sinner  would  have.  I  could 
get  no  satisfactory  answers  when  I  asked,  "  What 
made  you  fall  ?  how  did  you  feel  ?  what  were  you 
thinking  of  ?  What  made  you  afterwards  so  hap- 
py? What  makes  you  so  happy  now?  What 
makes  you  think,  Grod  has  given  you  a  new  heart  ? 
What  makes  you  think,  you  will  not  return  to  the 
world  and  love  it  as  well  as  ever?  They  had 
ready  answers  to  all  such  questions  ;  but  they  did 
not  seem  to  me  to  be  right  answers.  TJjey  appear- 
ed to  have  no  clear  and  full  ideas  of  the  exceeding 
sinfulness  of  the  heart,  of  remaining  sin,  or  the 
danger  of  self-delusion.  And  yet  these  men  were 
prayerful,  thoughtful,  serious  and  happy.  They 
studied  their  bibles,  forsook  their  old  companions, 
and  appeared  to  value  and  relish  all  the  appointed 


180  EXCITEMENT. 

means  of  grace.  In  this  way  of  life  they  contin- 
ued for  months.  I  took  pains  to  see  and  converse 
with  them  often  ;  and  though  they  did  not  appear 
to  me  to  blend  very  happily  in  feeling  with  other 
young  Christians,  or  to  enjoy  our  religious  services 
as  if  they  were  quite  satisfied ;  yet  my  mind  apol- 
ogized for  them,  on  the  ground  of  the  peculiar  way 
in  which  their  religion  commenced.  And  with 
the  exception  of  their  imperfect  views  and  feelings, 
about  the  great  doctrines  of  religion  ;  I  saw  nothing 
in  either  of  them,  to  make  me  think  them  unfit 
for  connection  with  the  church. 

Some  months  after  their  professed  conversion,  I 
mentioned  to  them,  separately,  the  subject  of  ma- 
king a  public  profession  of  their  faith.  Each  ap- 
peared to  think  this  his  duty  ;  but  each  of  them 
was  rather  reserved.  I  could  not  very  definitely 
ascertain  their  feelings ;  though  I  aimed  carefully 
and  kindly,  and  repeatedly  to  do  so.  One  season 
of  communion  after  another  passed  by  ;  and  neither 
of  them  united  with  the  church.  Their  particular 
friends,  who  had  made  such  frequent  mention  of 
their  conversion,  as  if  it  were  more  worthy  of  men- 
tion, than  the  conversion  of  scores  of  sinners 
around  them,  and  who  had  so  much  rejoiced  in 
their  conversion,  and  had  been  so  confident  of  its 
reality ;  began  to  be  very  silent  about  them.  I 
found  that  their  confidence  in  them  was  shaken. 

Within  a  year  from  the  time  when  they  pro- 


EXCITEMENT.  181 

fessed  to  have  turned  to  Christ,  the  younger  man 
had  become  entirely  careless  of  religion ;  and,  so 
far  as  I  know,  continues  so  to  this  day. 

The  other  one  was  a  little  more  steadfast.  But 
within  three  years,  he  had  become  an  intemperate 
man,  and  shame  and  a  torment  to  his  family  ;  and 
the  last  I  heard  of  him,  he  was  a  drunkard  !  He 
had  ceased  to  attend  divine  worship  on  the  Sab- 
bath ;  family  prayer  was  abandoned ;  his  children 
were  neglected ;  and  his  broken-hearted  wife,  with 
prayer  for  him  still  on  her  lips,  but  almost  without 
hope  that  Grod  would  hear,  was  fast  bending 
downwards  towards  the  grave,  the  only  remaining 
spot  of  an  earthly  rest ! 


Mere  excitements  of  mind  on  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion, however  powerful,  unless  they  arise  from 
the  known  truth  of  Grod,  are  never  safe.  Excite- 
ment, however  sudden  or  great,  is  not  to  be  feared 
or  deprecated,  if  it  is  originated  simply  by  the 
truth,  and  will  be  guided  by  the  truth.  All  other 
excitements  are  pernicious.  It  is  easy  to  produce 
them,  but  their  consequences  are  sad.  A  true  his- 
tory of  spurious  revivals  would  be  one  of  the  most 
melancholy  books  ever  written. 

The  great  leading  doctrines  of  Christianity  are 
the  truths  which  the  Holy  Spirit  employs,  when 

16 


182  EXCITEMENT. 

he  regenerates  souls.  If  young  converts  are  really- 
ignorant  on  such  points,  not  having  experimentally 
learnt  them,  they  are  only  converts  to  error  and 
deception.  It  is  not  to  be  expected,  perhaps  not  to 
be  desired,  that  young  Christians  should  under- 
stand doctrines  scholastic  ally,  or  theologically,  or 
metaphysically.  But  if  they  are  Christians  in- 
deed, it  is  probable  that  their  mind  will  be  sub- 
stantially right,  on  such  doctrines  as  human  sin- 
fulness, divine  sovereignty,  atonement,  justification 
by  faith  in  Jesus  Christ,  regeneration  by  the  spe- 
cial power  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  the  constant 
need  of  divine  aid.  (rod's  children  all  have  the 
same  image,  and  same  superscription — the  family 
mark.  Heaven  has  but  one  mould.  "  Behold- 
ing as  in  a  glass,  the  glory  of  the  Lord,  we  are 
changed  into  the  same  image." 


ASHAMED  OF  CHRIST. 


In  the  course  of  my  annual  pastoral  visitation 
to  the  families  of  my  congregation,  I  called  upon 
a  married  woman,  (not  a  professor  of  religion,) 
whom  I  had  seen  before,  and  whom  I  had  aimed 
to  persuade  to  prepare  for  the  future  life.  I  re- 
collected her  former  reserve  and  apparent  indiffer- 
ence to  religion,  and  determined,  before  I  entered 
the  house,  to  exert  all  my  powers  to  lead  her  to  an 
immediate  attention  to  her  future  welfare.  As  I 
expected,  I  found  her  alone,  her  husband  being  en- 
gaged in  his  daily  employ,  as  a  mechanic.  I 
stated  to  her,  in  few  words,  the  particular  reason 
why  I  had  called  on  her,  that  I  wished  to  per- 
suade her  to  attend  to  her  salvation. 

"  I  have  little  time  for  that,"  said  she. 

"  Little  time  !"  said  I.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,"  said  she,  with  a  very  determined 
air,  "  that  my  time  is  all  occupied.  I  have  hard- 
ly a  moment  to  spare.     I  have  much  to  do  for  my 


184  ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST. 

family.  I  have  my  husband  and  three  children  to 
care  for.  We  are  not  rich.  And  if  we  are  to  live 
comfortably  and  appear  respectably,  I  must  be  in- 
dustrious— at  work  almost  every  moment  of  my 
time.  My  husband  works  hard,  and  I  mean  to  do 
my  part  towards  getting  a  living." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  said  I ;  "it 
gives  me  a  higher  opinion  of  you.  It  convinces 
me  that  you  know  one  part  of  your  duty,  and  in- 
tend to  do  it.  I  am  sorry  that  you  arc  overbur- 
dened with  work,  if  you  are  so  ;  I  am  sorry  that 
you  have  any  hardships.  But  I  am  not  sorry  that 
you  are  not  rich,  as  you  say.  If  you  were  rich,  I 
should  have  less  hope  of  you  ;  you  would  have 
more  temptations,  and  no  more  time.  The  gospel 
is  for  the  poor  ;  for  their  comfort  here,  and  their 
salvation  hereafter.  Jesus  Christ  was  poor.  He 
preached  to  the  poor.  He  associated  with  the 
poor.  He  sympathized  with  the  poor.  He  loved 
the  poor.  If  you  had  less  to  do,  I  am  not  certain 
that  you  would  be  any  more  inclined  to  give  at- 
tention to  religion  than — " 

M  Yes,  I  should,"  said  she. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  think  so  ;  but  perhaps 
you  are  mistaken.  How  is  it  with  other  people  ? 
with  those  who  have  less  to  do  ?  Do  you  see  the 
rich  and  people  of  leisure,  any  more  of  them  Chris- 
tians, in  proportion  to  the  number,  than  of  the 
poor  ?" 


ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST.  185 

"  No,  sir  ;  not  so  many." 

"  "Well,  are  you  an  exception  ?  Are  you  not 
like  other  people  ?  And  if,  on  the  whole,  more 
people  are  hindered  from  religion  than  helped 
towards  it  by  wealth  and  time  enough  to  attend 
to  it,  is  it  not  probable,  that  if  you  were  in  the 
\ery  condition  you  wish  to  be  in,  with  more 
wealth,  and  less  to  occupy  you, — is  it  not  probable, 
that  you  would  be  less  likely  than  you  are  now, 
to  attend  to  religion  ?  Think  a  moment.  Many 
of  your  friends  and  neighbors,  who  have  much 
time,  are  not  pious.  Many  of  them,  who  have  lit- 
tle time  to  spare  from  labor,  are.  Somehow  or 
other  they  have  found  time  to  pray,  to  seek  the 
Lord,  to  repent.  And  now,  my  dear  woman,  tell 
me  honestly,  have  you  not  as  much  time  as 
they  ?" 

"I  suppose  I  have,"  said  she. 

"  Then,  can  you  not  seek  the  Lord  as  well  as 
they  ?" 

After  a  considerable  pause,  she  answered  with 
apparent  hesitation : — 

"  I  could,  if  I  knew  how." 

"  Will  you,  if  I  will  tell  you  how  ?" 

"  Yes,  as  well  as  I  can,  in  the  little  time  I  have 
to  spare." 

"Time!  woman!  Time  to  spare!  What  is 
time  given  to  you  for,  but  to  lay  up  treasures  in 
heaven  ?     You  must  find  time  to  be  sick,  and  time 


186  ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST. 

to  die,  whether  you  are  prepared  or  not.  And  you 
ought  not  to  treat  religion,  as  if  it  were  a  mere 
secondary  matter,  to  be  attended  to  or  not,  just  ac- 
cording to  your  convenience." 

"  Oh  !  no,  sir  ;  I  do  not  mean  that.  I  have  al- 
ways designed  to  be  a  Christian." 

"And  you  have  put  it  off  from  time  to  time, 
waiting  for  a  more  lit  opportunity  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have." 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you,  a  more  fit  opportunity 
will  never  come,  till  the  day  you  die !  No,  it 
never  will !  Your  idea  about  want  of  time  is  all  a 
deception.  You  have  had  time,  and  you  have  lost 
it !  You  have  it  to-day,  and  you  are  losing  it 
now.  You  have  done  your  duty  to  your  family 
well,  and  I  respect  you  for  it.  I  honor  your  feel- 
ings of  anxiety  and  affection  for  your  husband  and 
children.  I  would  not,  that  you  should  do  less  for 
them.  But  I  would,  that  you  should  do  more  for 
your  own  soul,  and  for  your  Grod  and  Saviour.  I 
tell  you  solemnly,  you  have  time  to  seek  Grod.  It 
is  a  deceitful  and  wicked  heartj  and  not  want  of 
time,  that  keeps  you  in  your  irreligion.  Grod 
knows  your  situation,  and  all  your  cares.  He  has 
himself  placed  you,  as  you  are  situated.  He  will 
accommodate  the  aids  of  his  grace  to  all  the  diffi- 
culties of  your  situation.  '  He  knoweth  our  frame, 
and  remember eth  we  are  but  dust.'  He  does  not 
require  of  you  anything,  which,  by  his  grace,  you 


ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST.  187 

cannot  do.  And  you  have  a  wrong  idea  of  the 
merciful  (rod,  when  you  think  he  has  placed  you 
in  such  a  situation,  that  you  have  not  time  to  at- 
tain salvation." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that"  said  she. 

"  Then  you  have  time  ;  and  have  no  occasion  to 
talk  about  the  little  time  you  have  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  time  ;  if  I  knew  how." 

"  G-od  has  told  you  how.  You  may  find  his  di- 
rections in  his  word.  For  example,  in  the  Fifty- 
fifth  chapter  of  Isaiah  ;  *  Seek  ye  the  Lord  while 
he  may  be  found  ;  call  ye  upon  him  while  he  is 
near.'  That  is  one  way  of  seeking  him.  You 
must  pray.     Do  you  ever  pray  ?" 

"  Not  often !" 

"  Ought  you  not  to  pray,  as  he  bids  you  ?" 

"  I  ought  to." 

"  Then  will  you  ?  will  you  begin  to-day?  will 
you  carefully  read  that  chapter,  and  pray  over  it, 
and  beseech  Grod  to  lead  you  to  salvation  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will"  said  she,  solemnly. 

"  Then,  good-bye.  If  you  seek  the  Lord,  as 
that  chapter  directs  ;  you  will  not  seek  in  vain." 

A  few  days  after  this,  I  called  upon  her  and 
found  her  in  a  very  anxious  state  of  mind.  She 
had  no  more  to  say  about  want  of  time.  She 
seemed  deeply  impressed  with  a  sense  of  sin  and 
utter  unworthiness,  and  expressed  her  gratitude  to 
God,  that  her  mind  had  been  turned  to  this  sub- 


188  ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST. 

ject,  before  her  life  had  come  to  a  close.  I  con- 
versed with  her,  as  well  as  I  could  ;  and  aimed  to 
lead  her  to  Christ.  She  appeared  to  me  to  know 
her  condition  as  a  sinner  so  well,  and  to  be  so 
deeply  impressed  with  a  sense  of  her  need  of 
Christ,  and  in  all  respects  so  solemn  and  deter- 
mined, that  I  hoped  she  would  soon  be  brought 
into  the  peace  and  security  of  faith. 

I  soon  called  again,  and  found  her  in  the  same 
state  of  mind.  This  surprised  me.  I  had  not  ex- 
pected it.  I  labored  to  find  what  could  be  her 
hindrance ;  but  I  questioned,  and  reasoned,  and 
talked,  in  vain. 

Again  and  again,  I  repeated  my  visits  to  her. 
She  remained  the  same.  It  distressed  me.  I 
could  not  understand  it.  For  months,  she  had  ap- 
peared to  me  to  understand  all  the  great  truths  of 
the  gospel,  and  to  feel  them  deeply.  I  could  de- 
tect no  error  in  her  views.  I  could  not  find 
wherein  she  was  unprepared  to  deny  herself.  I 
could  discover  no  reliance  upon  her  own  righteous- 
ness, and  no  lack  of  prayer  or  love  of  the  world, 
which  might  tend  to  hinder  her  from  coming  to 
Christ.  She  omitted  no  outward  duty.  Daily  she 
studied  and  prayed  in  secret.  Still  she  had  no 
hope  and  ko  peace.  And  yet,  as  months  rolled  on, 
her  seriousness  and  solemnity  did  not  appear  to  di- 
minish, as  I  expected  they  would.  The  Holy 
Spirit  had  not  forsaken  her. 


ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST.  189 

Her  case  seemed  to  me  a  dark  mystery.  I 
could  not  understand  it.  I  had  never  been  ac- 
quainted with  any  such  instance  before.  Ordina- 
rily I  had  found  those  of  such  deep  seriousness 
coming  to  repentance,  or  else  losing  their  anxiety  > 
much  sooner  than  this.  She  appeared  to  have  all 
confidence  in  me,  and  to  conceal  none  of  her  feel- 
ings from  me.  I  knew  she  was  a  woman  of  good 
mind,  and  strong  and  deep  feelings.  And  on  that 
ground,  after  exhausting  all  my  powers  to  discover 
her  hindrance  or  difficulty,  I  said  to  her  one  day, 
at  a  kind  of  venture  ;  "  Mrs.  K.,  I  have  been  very 
anxious  about  you  for  a  long  time.  I  love  and  re- 
spect you.  I  have  tried  with  all  my  might  to  do 
you  good.  But  I  have  failed !  Something,  I  know 
not  what,  keeps  you  back  from  repentance  and 
coming  to  Christ. — Now,  what  is  it  ?" 

"  Why ;"  said  she,  (with  great  effort,  speaking 
as  if  compelling  herself  to  speak  ;)  "I  have  never 
been  baptized." 

The  expression  startled  me.  I  could  not  con- 
ceive what  she  meant.  I  knew  she  was  a  woman 
of  good  mind,  and  well  instructed ;  and  how  the 
lack  of  baptism  should  keep  her  from  turning  to 
Christ,  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  conjecture. 
Her  case  was  a  perfect  riddle  to  me,  darker  than 
before.     I  answered  : — 

"  You  have  never  been  baptized?     Well,  what 


190  ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST. 

of  that  ?  how  does  that  hinder  you  from  fleeing  to 
Christ?"  ' 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  "if  I  was  really  a  Christian, 
it  would  be  my  duty  to  join  the  church :  and  I 
never  could  come  out  at  my  age,  before  my  hus- 
band and  my  three  children,  and  be  baptized." 

I  was  perfectly  amazed  at  her ! 

"  Why,"  said  I,  "do  you  mean  that  you  should 
be  ashamed  to  own  Christ,  and  be  baptized,  in  the 
presence  of  your  husband  and  children  ?" 

Ci  Yes,  I  mean  just  that." 

"  And  has  that  idea  hindered  you  from  coming 
to  Christ  ?" 

"Yes,  I  believe*  it  has.  I  never  could  do  that ; 
and  every  time  I  think  of  following  Christ,  that 
turns  me  back.  I  could  not  endure  it.  If  it  was 
not  for  that,  I  believe  I  should  be  willing  to  follow 
Christ.  There  is  no  other  thing  that  I  know  of, 
which  I  should  not  be  willing  to  do." 

Still  more  amazed,  I  answered  : — 

"  You  utterly  astonish  me  !  I  am  amazed  be- 
yond measure !  Is  it  possible,  that  a  woman 
of  your  sense,  of  your  character  and  decision,  is 
hindered  by  such  an  idea  ?  Are  you  not  ashamed 
of  it  ?" 

"I  know  it  seems  foolish,"  said  she ;  "  and  that  is 
the  reason  why  I  did  not  tell  you  before.  I  thought 
you  would  despise  me ;  but  such  are  my  feelings. 
I  never  could  be  baptized  !"     She  wept  bitterly. 


ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST.  191 

"  Well,  I  thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  telling 
me  now ;  I  thank  you  much  for  it,  and  respect 
you  for  it.  You  shall  never  regret  it.  I  have  no 
disposition  to  despise  you,  or  in  any  way  hurt 
your  feelings.     But  is  it  not  strange  that — " 

"  Yes ;  it  is  strange  and  foolish,"  said  she,  in- 
terrupting me  ;  "  but  I  cannot  help  it.  I  do  feel 
so.  Oh !  how  I  wish  I  had  been  baptized  in  my 
infancy.  But  my  parents  were  not  communicants 
in  the  church." 

She  still  sat  weeping  immoderately. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  I,  "  you  are  yielding  to 
a  temptation  of  the  devil !  Remember,  Christ  has 
said,  '  He  that  is  ashamed  of  me,  of  him  will  I  be 
ashamed.'  " 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it  all ;  I  have  thought  of  it 
a  thousand  times.  I  wish  I  did  not  feel  so  ;  but  I 
cannot  help  it." — As  she  said  this,  she  lifted  her 
streaming  eyes  upon  me,  and  hastily  brushed  away 
her  tears,  as  if  determined  to  dismiss  the  subject 
of  religion  from  her  thoughts. 

"  Hear  me  !"  said  I.  "  You  must  not  yield  to 
this  !  Your  being  baptized  cannot  certainly  be  a 
matter  of  great  self-denial  to  you ;  and  if  you 
were  a  believer  indeed,  you  would  not  feel  it  to  be 
so.  Grive  yourself  to  Christ  to  be  saved  ;  and  you 
will  not  hesitate  then,  with  your  heart  full  of  love 
to  him,  to  be  baptized  before  your  husband  and 
children,  and  all   the   world,  if   need   be." — She 


192  ASHAMED     OF     CHRIST. 

shook  her  head  at  this,  in  a  very  determined  man- 
ner, as  if  she  disbelieved  it,  or  was  resolved  to  dis- 
miss religion  from  her  thoughts. — Said  I, — 

"  Well  then,  since  you  feel  so,  I  will  remove  all 
that  difficulty, — you  need  not  be  baptized  at  all, 
if  you  do  not  wish  to  be.  You  need  not  think  of 
it  again.  Repentance  and  fleeing  to  Christ  in 
faith  are  your  duties  now  ;  and  the  great  adver- 
sary is  keeping  you  from  Christ,  by  leading  you 
to  think  of  what  may  be  your  duty  hereafter. 
Dismiss  all  that  from  your  thoughts  entirely. 
You  need  not  be  baptized.  You  need  not  join  the 
church.  I  never  will  say  a  word  to  you  about  it, 
unless  you  do  to  me.  Only  repent.  Grive  Grod 
your  heart  now,  before  he  leaves  you  to  your  own 
way.  The  Holy  Spirit  will  not  always  strive  with 
you." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  said  she,  "  that  I  need  never 
be  baptized  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  mean  exactly  that.  You  need  not  be 
baptized,  unless  you  choose  to  be,  after  you  have 
come  to  repentance  and  faith  in  the  Redeemer.  I 
never  will  mention  the  subject  to  you. — And  now 
will  you  seek  the  Lord  with  all  your  heart,  and 
let  baptism  alone  ?" — Said  she, — 

"  I  hope  I  shall  be  enabled  to  do  so,  if  I  can  bo 
a  Christian  without  being  baptized." 

I  prayed  with  her,  and  left  her. — "Within  a  very 
few  days  from  that  time,  she  found  peace  with 


ASHAMED     OF      CHRIST.  193 

God.  She  had  very  comfortable  evidences  of  his 
acceptance.  She  appeared  to  be  a  peculiarly  de- 
termined and  happy  believer.  She  avowed  her 
hope  of  eternal  life  through  the  atonement  made 
for  sinners  by  Jesus  Christ — expressed  her  aston- 
ishment, that  she  had  lived  so  long  in  impiety — 
thanked  me  very  emphatically  for  "  delivering  her 
out  of  her  snare,"  as  she  called  it, — and  blessed 
Grod,  that  her  "  poor  heart  could  now  rest." 

After  this  I  saw  her  often.  For  months  she 
continued  much  the  same  in  hope,  peace,  and 
gratitude  towards  Grod. 

I  kept  my  promise  to  her.  I  never  uttered  a 
word  to  her  about  connection  with  the  church. 
One  day  she  said  to  me,  that  she  should  like  to 
become  a  member  of  the  church,  if  I  thought  she 
"  had  any  fitness  for  the  Lord's  table." 

"  But,  Mrs.  K." — said  I,  "  you  have  never  been 
baptized." 

"  Oh,"  says  she,  "  don't  say  anything  about 
that.  I  have  got  over  all  that  difficulty  now.  I 
am  willing  to  be  baptized ;  and  I  want  my  hus- 
band and  my  children  to  know,  that  I  love  Christ 
and  am  willing  to  own  his  name." 

A  few  days  afterwards,  she  was  received,  as  a 
member  of  the  church ;  and  I  baptized  her  in  the 
presence  of  all  the  congregation. 

After  she  had  been  at  the  Lord's  table,  and  the 
congregation  was  dismissed ;  she  waited  for  me  at 

17 


194  ASHAMED    OF     CHRIST. 

the  door  of  the  church,  to  tell  me,  that  she  "  want- 
ed to  have  her  children  baptized  in  the  afternoon." 
She  apologized  for  asking  me  to  do  it  on  a  day,  in 
which  I  had  so  many  duties  ;  but  she  said,  she 
could  not  wait ;  she  did  not  wish  to  have  her  chil- 
dren tormented,  as  she  had  been ;  and  she  might 
not  live  till  another  Sabbath.  She  presented  them 
for  baptism  in  the  afternoon.  The  next  day  she 
told  me,  that  she  considered  the  covenant  of  Grod  a 
very  precious  privilege,  she  could  now  pray  for  her 
children,  as  embraced  in  the  covenant  promises ; 
and  it  relieved  her  heart  to  think,  that  they  would 
not  be  hindered  from  religion  by  such  an  "  obstacle 
as  had  troubled  her,  so  foolishly." 


Many  convicted  sinners  are  kept  from  salvation 
by  some  mere  trifle.  It  is  important  to  remove 
the  obstacle.  They  will  not  be  likely  to  seek  Grod 
in  earnest,  till  that  is  done.  The  stony  ground 
and  the  thorny  ground  need  preparing  before  the 
seed  is  sown.  The  young  man  in  the  gospel 
valued  his  riches  too  much  to  follow  Christ.  All 
kinds  of  rubbish  will  gather  around  a  wicked 
heart ;  and  a  sinner  will  yield  to  an  obstacle  which 
he  is  ashamed  to  mention.  "We  have  gained  some- 
thing, when  we  have  discovered  what  it  is.  We 
can  then  take  aim,  and  the  arrow  is  more  apt  to  hit. 


THE    LAST   STEP. 


For  the  purpose  of  learning  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, about  the  workings  of  the  human  heart,  I 
have  been  accustomed,  in  conversing  with  those 
who  have  been  led  to  indulge  a  hope  in  Christ, 
to  ask  them  questions,  whose  answers  might  be 
beneficial  to  me,  in  my  intercourse  with  others. 
"  As  in  water  face  answereth  to  face,  so  the  heart 
of  man  to  man."  It  is  not  probable,  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  such  persons  will  always  be  very  ex- 
tensive. Some  are  not  likely  to  recollect  the  pro- 
cesses of  thek  own  mind.  But  it  is  probable,  that 
such  consciousness  will  have  much  truth  in  it ; 
and  that  thereby  we  may  sometimes  get  a  clear 
understanding  of  the  operations  of  the  Holy  Spirit, 
and  of  the  difficulties  or  errors,  which  keep  sinners 
from  repentance.  On  this  matter,  the  conceptions 
of  an  uneducated  or  an  ignorant  man  are  not  wor- 
thy of  so  much  regard  probably,  as  those  of  a  well- 
trained  and  discriminating  mind.     Fanaticism  will 


196  THE     LAST      STEP. 

soon  expose  itself,  when  its  own  consciousness  is 
appealed  to,  and  is  compared  with  the  truth  of 
God. 

To  those  who  have  recently  indulged  a  religious 
hope,  I  have  many  times  put  such  a  question  as 
this  ; — what  kept  you  so  long  from  Christ  ? — or, 
what  was  your  hindrance  ? — or,  what  were  you 
trying  to  do,  in  all  that  time,  while  you  were  so 
anxious  about  religion,  and  had  not  attained  the 
hope  you  have  now  ?  I  have  never  received  but 
two  answers  to  that  question.  The  answers,  in- 
deed, in  the  form  or  words  of  them  have  been  va- 
rious;  but  they  might  all  be  reduced  to  two  in 
substance,  if  not  to  one. 

A  highly  educated  man,  a  fine  scholar  and  a 
very  careful  thinker,  gave  me  one  of  them  ; — a 
man,  at  that  time  an  officer  in  one  of  our  colleges, 
and  who  afterwards  filled  an  important  station  in 
a  public  institution,  as  a  man  of  science.  He  had 
been  for  some  weeks  very  anxious  and  prayerful. 
He  had  often  sought  conversation  with  me,  and  I 
had  told  him  all  the  truth  of  G-od,  and  his  own 
duty,  as  well  as  I  could.  Very  manifestly  he  had 
disliked,  if  he  had  not  disbelieved  what  I  said  to 
him,  in  respect  to  prayer  and  a  sinner's  depend- 
ence upon  the  Holy  Spirit.  On  one  occasion,  after 
I  had  been  urging  upon  his  heart  and  conscience 
some  of  the  fundamental  and  plain  truths  of  the 
gospel,  he  said  to  me  ;  "  this  is  too  doctrinal."     I 


THE     LAST     STEP.  197 

therefore  concluded,  that  just  such  doctrinal  in- 
struction and  urgency  were  the  very  things  his 
case  required,  and  continued  ever  afterwards  to 
employ  them,  when  I  conversed  with  him.  At 
another  time,  he  stated  to  me  the  speculative  pref- 
erences and  habits  of  his  own  mind ;  and  expressed 
his  opinion,  that  such  a  mind  needed  "  views  of 
truth  adapted  to  its  calibre,"  as  he  expressed  it.  I 
therefore  took  pains,  ever  afterwards,  to  simplify 
everything  as  much  as  possible,  and  talk  to  him, 
as  I  would  talk  to  any  unlettered  man  or  to  a 
child.  When  I  referred  to  the  scriptures  and 
quoted  their  language  in  its  connection,  and  showed 
how  one  passage  was  explained  by  another,  and 
how  the  truths  I  urged  upon  him  were  perfectly 
consistent  with  all  the  other  scriptures,  and  how 
these  truths  of  Grod  must  not  be  set  aside  in  our 
experience,  but  that  our  religious  experience  must 
mainly  consist  in  experiencing  just  these  doctrines 
or  truths  of  God ;  he  became  silent,  but  I  did  not 
think  he  was  satisfied.  He  appeared  convinced, 
but  not  in  the  least  relieved. 

After  he  had  reached  a  different  state  of  mind, 
he  came  to  me  again  ;  and.  stated  to  me  his  views 
and  feelings,  with  a  clearness,  that  I  have  seldom 
known  equalled.  His  mind  seemed  as  light  as 
day.  "  Faith  is  the  great  thing,"  said  he.  "  Sim- 
plicity is  better  than  speculation."  After  convers- 
ing with  him  for  a  time,  I  thought  I  should  like  to 

m 


198  THE     LAST     STEP. 

know,  how  such  a  clear  and  strong  mind  would 
judge  in  respect  to  the  hindrances,  which  keep 
convicted  sinners  from  salvation.  I  therefore  said 
to  him : — 

"  You  have  been  a  long  time  attentive  to  re- 
ligion ;  what  hindered  you,  that  you  did  not  come 
to  repentance  before  ?" — Says  he, 

"Allow  me  to  tell  you  about  myself.  I  have 
studied  religion  for  years.  It  is  no  new  subject 
to  me.  Three  or  four  times  before  now,  I  have 
had  my  attention  arrested  and  have  .been  over  all 
this  process  of  conviction,  and  prayer,  and  anxiety, 
everything,  but  the  last  step." 

"  "What  was  that  step  ?"  said  I. 

"  Giving  up  all  to  God !"  was  his  emphatic 
reply.  He  then  went  on  to  say :  "I  was  like  a 
man  trying  to  climb  over  a  rail  fence.  I  went  up 
one  rail,  and  then  another,  and  another,  till  I  got 
to  the  top  ;  and  then  got  down  again  and  went  on, 
the  same  side  as  before.  That  has  always  been 
the  way  with  me,  before  now.  But  now,  I  hope  I 
have  got  over.  I  have  been  brought  to  give  up  all 
to  God." 

"  "What  do  you  mean  by  giving  up  all  to  God  ?" 

"  I  mean,"  said  he,  ';  consenting  to  let  him 
rule  ;  to  let  him  do  with  me  as  he  pleases,  and 
trust  him  to  do  everything  for  me  through  Jesus 
Christ." 

"  How  came  you  to  get  over  the  fence  now  ?" 


THE     LAST     STEP.  199 

"  Because  i"  gave  up  all,  and  God  took  me 
over." 

This  was  his  consciousness.  So  far  as  he 
could  himself  understand  the  process  of  conver- 
sion, the  turning  point  lay  just  here, — "  I  gave  up 
all  to  G-od." 


All  true  converts  may  not  be  conscious  of  any- 
special  act  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  their  regenera- 
tion. Minds  are  not  all  equally  discriminating. 
Some  are  confused  in  respect  to  what  passes 
within  them.  But  with  discriminating  minds 
there  will  ordinarily  be  the  clear  impression,  that 
something  has  been  done  for  the  soul  beyond  its 
own  power.  This  impression,  indeed,  is  no  unfit 
test  in  every  case  of  religious  hope.  If  it  is  entirely 
wanting,  we  may  well  doubt  the  reality  of  the  be- 
lieved conversion.  No  matter  how  it  is  expressed. 
The  words  are  nothing.  But  the  thing  is  essen- 
tial. The  Holy  Soirit  is  the  Author  of  regenera- 
tion, and  why  should  not  the  subject  of  his  opera- 
tions be  expected  to  have  a  consciousness,  that  a 
power  beyond  his  own  has  acted  for  him  ?  and 
has  done  for  him,  what  was  never  done  before  ? 
That  "  effectual  calling  is  the  work  of  (rod's 
Spirit,"    has    ordinarily    constituted    one    of    the 


200  THE     LAST      STEP. 

things  which  true  converts  have  learned  by  their 
own  experience.  In  some  way  or  another,  this 
idea  will  come  out,  as  they  are  giving  a  reason  for 
the  hope  that  is  in  them.  "  He  sent  from  above  ; 
he  took  me ;  he  drew  me  out  of  the  deep  waters, 
and  established  my  goings  upon  the  rock."  Moral 
suasion  experience  is  a  very  suspicious  sort  of  ex- 
perience. There  is  a  better  kind  : — "  I  gave  up 
all  to  Grod,  and  he  took  me  over." 

And  more.  Impenitent  sinners  need  to  be  con- 
vinced of  their  dependence  on  a  power  beyond 
their  own.  They  need  this  especially.  It  is  an 
essential  point.  Such  a  conviction  will  tend  to 
drive  them  off  from  their  miserable  self-reliances. 
It  will  never  put  them  at  rest,  but  lead  them  to 
work,  to  prayer.  Aside  from  such  a  conviction, 
they  will  be  ignorant  of  the  extent  of  their  de- 
pravity ;  their  seriousness  will  lack  depth ;  and 
their  seeking  lack  earnestness.  The  just  sense  of 
the  amount  of  their  criminality  for  continuing  in 
their  impenitence  cannot  be  brought  home  to  their 
hearts,  unless  the  doctrine  of  their  dependence 
helps  to  bring  it  there. 

The  Holy  Spirit  is  their  offered  aid  ;  and  surely 
that  aid  is  enough.  They  should  know,  and  feel 
it  to  their  heart's  core,  that  they  are  now,  on 
the  spot,  to-day,  under  the  most  solemn  obliga- 
tions to  repent,  not  only  because  sin  is  wrong, 
but  because  God  offers  them  the  aids  of  the  Holy 


THE     LAST     STEP.  201 

Spirit :  "in  me  is  thy  help."  Their  impeni- 
tence not  only  tramples  under  foot  the  blood  of 
the  covenant,  but  also  does  despite  to  the  Spirit  of 
Grace. 


THE  PERSECUTED  WIFE. 


Just  before  one  of  our  seasons  of  communion, 
}  .railed  upon  a  woman  whom  I  had  often  seen, 
a*\l  who  for  some  months  had  entertained  a  hope 
in  Christ,  to  have  some  conversation  with  her  in 
reference  to  her  uniting  with  the  church.  She 
thought  such  a  step  to  be  her  duty ;  for  she  be- 
lieved the  Holy  Spirit  had  renewed  her  heart,  and 
Christ  had  accepted  her.  She  delighted  in  faith 
to  repose  upon  him  ;  and  she  said  it  would  rejoice 
her  heart  to  come  to  his  table,  and  try  to  honor  a 
Saviour,  whom  she  had  neglected  for  so  many 
years. 

But  she  feared  her  husband  would  oppose  it. 
He  was  somewhat  intemperate,  and  when  intox- 
icated, tyrannical.  She  wished  to  unite  with  the 
church,  but  she  did  not  wish  him  to  know  it.  He 
seldom  attended  public  worship,  and  cared  and 
said  so  little  about  religion,  that  she  deemed  it 
quite  probable  he  would  never  know  anything 
about  it,  if  she  should  male  n  public  profession  of 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  203 

her  faith.  She  proposed,  therefore,  to  unite  with 
the  church,  but  to  keep  it  a  secret  from  him. 

To  this  proposal,  I  could  not  consent.  I  ex- 
plained to  her  why  I  could  not.  There  were  sev- 
eral reasons.  He  was  her  husband,  whom  she 
was  bound  to  honor.  And  though  there  might  be 
much  in  him  which  she  could  not  respect,  his  ir- 
regular life  and  his  opposition  to  religion,  still  she 
was  bound  to  treat  him  kindly.  If  she  should 
unite  with  the  church  without  his  knowledge  ;  he 
would  be  more  likely,  as  soon  as  he  knew  it,  to  be 
offended  and  treat  her  unkindly,  and  to  have  his 
opposition  to  religion  increased.  She  must  not  be 
ashamed  of  Christ,  or  fear  to  do  her  duty  in  the 
face  of  all  opposition.  And  if  she  had  so  little 
faith,  that  she  could  not  confess  Christ  for  fear  of 
any  wicked  man's  displeasure  ;  if  her  faith  in  (rod 
was  so  small  that  she  could  not  do  her  duty  and 
trust  him  to  take  care  of  her ;  I  could  not  have 
confidence  enough  in  her  piety,  to  consent  to  her 
reception  into  the  church. 

She  appeared  greatly  cast  down.  She  wept  bit- 
terly. "  Then,"  said  she  ;  "  I  can  never  come  to 
the  Saviour's  table !" 

I  replied,  "  I  think  you  can,  Madam.  In  my 
opinion,  your  husband  will  not  be  so  much  opposed 
to  you,  as  you  think.  If  he  should  be,  you  can 
pray  for  him ;  and  He  who  hears  prayer  can  re- 
move his  opposition." 


204  THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE. 

She  was  much  agitated.  "  What  shall  I  do  ?" 
said  she.  "  I  do  think  it  my  duty,  to  come  out 
from  the  world  and  own  Christ,  as  my  Saviour  and 
Lord  ;  and  I  long  to  do  so.  But  I  am  afraid  of  my 
husband.  I  know  he  would  never  consent  to  it ; 
and  would  abuse  me,  if  I  should  name  such  a 
thing  in  his  hearing !" 

"  You  have  not  tried  it,  Madam.  You  have 
nothing  to  fear.  Grod  loves  his  children  ;  and  for 
their  sakes  often  restrains  wicked  men.  Besides, 
your  husband  is  not  so  bad  a  man  as  you  think, 
probably." 

"  Oh  !  sir,  you  don't  know  him.  He  sometimes 
talks  to  me  in  a  dreadful  manner,  if  he  finds  me 
reading  the  Bible,  or  crying." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "it  is  nothing  but  talk.  He  has 
just  manliness  and  courage  enough,  to  bluster  and 
abuse  a  poor  woman  like  you,  with  his  tongue  ; 
but  he  will  go  no  further.  If  you  do  your  duty, 
he  will  not  dare  to  injure  you.  And  quite  likely, 
when  he  sees  you  are  firm,  your  example  will  be 
the  means  of  leading  him  to  repentance." 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?     I  wish  you  would  tell  me." 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Madam.  When  your  husband 
comes  home,  take  some  favorable  opportunity, 
when  you  are  alone  with  him,  and  when  he  ap- 
pears calm,  sober,  and  good-natured  ;  and  just  tell 
him  seriously  and  kindly,  how  you  feel,  what  you 
think  of  your  past  life,  what  you  believe  God  has 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  205 

done  for  you,  and  that  you  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion, it  is  your  duty  to  unite  with  the  church. 
If  he  is  angry,  or  speaks  unkindly  to  you  ;  have  no 
disputes,  not  a  word  of  argument,  hear  all  he  has 
to  say,  in  silence.  You  may  tell  him,  if  you  think 
best,  that  you  have  done  all  your  duty  to  him,  as 
well  as  you  could,  while  you  had  no  religion ;  and 
now  you  mean  to  do  it  better.  But  you  think  you 
owe  duties  to  your  Grod  also,  which  ought  not  to 
be  neglected.  But  do  not  say  one-  word,  unless 
your  feelings  are  kind,  and  mild,  and  calm.  You 
must  feel  rightly,  or  you  will  not  speak  rightly. — 
You  can  at  least  tell  him  this ;  and  see  what  he 
will  say." 

"  Well,  I  will  do  it,"  said  she,  "  if  you  think  it 
best." 

I  left  her.  Three  days  afterwards  I  called  upon 
her,  and  found  her  in  deep  depression.  She  had 
followed  my  advice,  employing  my  own  words  as 
nearly  as  possible,  in  speaking  to  her  husband. 
At  first,  he  was  silent,  and  she  thought  he  was 
going  to  make  no  opposition.  But  after  saying  a 
few  words,  he  seemed  to  be  worked  up  into  a 
dreadful  passion.  He  swore  he  would  never  live 
with  her  another  day,  if  she  joined  the  church. 
He  would  turn  her  out  of  doors.  He  declared, 
"  the  church  folks  were  all  hypocrites  ;"  and  as 
for  her  minister,  he  was  a  villain :  and  if  he  ever 
came  to  his  house  again  to  destroy  the  peace  of  his 

18 


206  THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE. 

family,  lie  would  "  put  him  out  of  the  house 
quick." 

"  What  time  will  he  be  home  ?"  said  I. 

"  In  about  an  hour." 

"  Very  well,"  said  I,  rising  to  go;  "I  will  be 
here  in  an  hour." 

"  Oh  !  no,  sir,  no  !"  said  she,  "  I  hope  not !  He 
will  abuse  you  !  I  don't  know  what  he  would 
not  do !" 

"  Never  fear,"  said  I.  "  He  will  not  trouble 
me.  You  need  not  tell  him  I  have  been  here,  this 
morning.  And  if  I  meet  him  here  at  noon,  do  not 
leave  me  alone  with  him ;  stay  and  hear  what  he 
will  say  to  me." 

She  begged  me  not  to  return  ;  but  in  an  hour 
afterwards  I  returned,  and  found  him  at  home  with 
his  wife.  I  spoke  to  him,  gave  him  my  hand,  and 
conversed  with  him  for  some  minutes.  He  was 
rather  taciturn,  appeared  a  little  sullen,  but  he  did 
not  treat  me  with  any  special  rudeness.  I  men- 
tioned to  him  the  altered  feelings  of  his  wife  ;  and 
expressed  my  hope,  that  he  would  himself  give 
immediate  and  prayerful  attention  to  his  salvation. 
I  solemnly  assured  him,  that  without  being  born 
again  he  could  not  see  the  kingdom  of  (rod;  and 
that  though  he  had  neglected  it  so  long,  salvation 
was  still  within  his  reach.  But  that  he  would 
soon  be  on  the  down-hill  of  life,  even  if  Grod  should 
spare  him,  of  which  he  had  not  an  item  of  security. 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  207 

To  die  as  he  was,  would  be  dreadful.  And  if  he 
would  seek  Grod,  like  his  wife,  they  would  live  to- 
gether more  happily  for  themselves,  and  would  set 
an  example  for  their  numerous  children,  which 
certainly  would  be  beneficial  to  them,  and  be 
fondly  remembered  by  them,  when  he  and  his  wife 
were  gone  to  the  grave. 

He  heard  all  this  in  silence;  but  did  not  seem 
to  be  much  affected  by  it,  beyond  an  occasional 
sigh,  while  I  was  speaking.  "When  I  arose  to  de- 
part, he  coldly  took  leave  of  me. 

Before  the  next  season  of  communion  arrived,  I 
called  upon  his  wife,  expecting  to  find  her  prepared 
to  confess  Christ  before  men.  She  had  seen  that 
her  husband  did  not  treat  me  as  he  had  sworn  to 
do ;  and  I  thought  she  would  be  convinced  by 
that,  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  feared,  if  she 
should  unite  with  the  church,  as  she  steadily 
maintained  it  was  her  duty  to  do.  Bat  I  was  dis- 
appointed. She  seemed  more  determined  than 
ever,  to  yield  to  her  husband's  wishes.  "  He  has 
dreadfully  threatened  me,"  says  she. 

"  And  will  you  obey  his  threats,  and  disobey 
what  you  yourself  say  is  the  command  of  Christ  ?" 

"  I  do  know  it  is  my  duty.  I  feel  it.  The 
Testament  makes  it  plain  in  Jesus  Christ's  own 
words.  But  we  are  poor  people.  I  am  a  poor 
woman,  without  friends,  dependent  upon  the  daily 
labor  of  my  husband,  for  myself  and  my  children 


208  THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE. 

He  says  he  will  not  live  with  me  a  single  day, 
after  I  join  the  church;  and  I  don't  know  what 
will  become  of  me  and  the  children.  The  most  of 
them  are  very  young.  I  have  eight  of  them,  and 
the  oldest  is  not  sixteen.  And  what  would  become 
of  this  baby,  if  I  had  no  house  or  home  ?" 

As  she  said  this,  she  was  holding  the  little  thing 
in  her  arms,  and  the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes, 
and  fell  in  quick  drops  upon  its  little  cheek. — The 
scene  was  too  much  for  me.  I  turned  away,  and 
wept. 

But  repressing  my  emotions,  I  said  to  her : — 
"  My  dear  friend,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  But  I  do 
not  fear  for  you.  Do  whatever  you  seriously 
deem  your  duty,  and  Grod  will  take  care  of  you. 
Your  husband  will  do  no  such  thing  as  he 
threatens.  He  will  not  leave  you.  He  will  not 
turn  you  out  of  the  house.  He  will  not  drive 
you  and  the  children  into  the  street.  If  he 
should,  remember  '  Blessed  are  ye  when  men  shall 
revile  you,  and  persecute  you,  and  shall  say  all 
manner  of  evil  against  you  falsely,  for  my  sake. 
Rejoice  and  be  exceeding  glad,  for  great  is  your 
reward  in  heaven.  Ye  cannot  serve  two  masters. 
Whosoever  will  save  his  life  shall  lose  it ;  and 
whosoever  will  lose  his  life  for  my  sake  shall  find 
it.  Whosoever  shall  be  ashamed  of  me  and  my 
words,  of  him  shall  the  Son  of  Man  be  ashamed, 
when  he  shall  come  in  his  own  glory  and  in  his 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  209 

Father's,  and  of  the  holy  angels.  If  any  man 
come  to  me  and  hate  not  his  father  and  mother, 
and  wife  and  children,  and  brethren  and  sisters, 
yea,  and  his  own  life  also,  he  cannot  be  my  disci- 
ple. Every  man  that  hath  forsaken  houses,  or 
brethren,  or  sisters,  or  father,  or  mother,  or  wife, 
or  children,  or  lands,  for  my  name's  sake  shall  re- 
ceive an  hundred  fold,  and  shall  inherit  everlast- 
ing life.'  Such  are  some  of  the  solemn  words  of 
Christ.  I  cannot  alter  them.  It  is  your  solemn 
duty  to  weigh  them  well.  They  appear  to  have 
been  uttered  for  just  such  cases  as  yours.  In  the 
first  ages  of  Christianity  they  were  obeyed.  Men 
and  women  became  even  martyrs  for  Christ.  I 
do  not  know  what  Grod  may  call  you  to  endure — 
not  martyrdom,  I  believe  ;  but  if  he  should,  it 
were  better  for  you  to  die  a  thousand  deaths,  than 
to  dishonor  and  disobey  your  Lord.  My  heart 
bleeds  for  you,  but  I  cannot  help  you.  Gro  to 
your  (rod.  Cast  your  burden  upon  him.  Pour 
out  your  heart  to  him.  I  have  told  you  before, 
that  I  do  not  believe  your  husband  will  execute 
one  of  his  threats.  But  if  you  cannot  have  faith 
in  Grod,  and  obey  his  commands,  come  what  may, 
do  not  think  yourself  a  Christian.  '  My  sheep 
hear  my  voice.  They  follow  me.'  If  you  do  not 
believe  it  to  be  your  duty  to  come  to  the  Lord's 
table—" 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  (interrupting  me,  and  sobbing 
18* 


210  THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE. 

as  if  her  heart  would  break,)  "  I  knoiv  it  is  a 
duty.    It  is  my  duty.     Christ  has  commanded  me." 

"  Well,  will  you  obey  him  ?" 

She  did  not  answer.  She  could  not.  She 
seemed  crushed  beneath  a  burden  she  was  unable 
to  bear,  and  continued  to  weep  bitterly. 

"  I  will  leave  you,"  said  I.  "  I  will  not  even 
pray  with  you  now.  You  are  the  one  to  pray. 
You  can  pray  better  than  I  can,  on  this  occasion ; 
and  G-od  will  hear  you." 

I  left  her.  That  communion  season  passed  by, 
and  another,  and  still  another.  She  was  still  un- 
decided. I  mentioned  the  subject  to  her  more 
than  once ;  and  on  one  occasion  she  told  me  she 
did  not  any  longer  fear  anything  on  her  own  ac- 
count, for  she  could  herself  bear  death  even  ;  but 
it  was  her  fear  about  her  children,  that  kept  her 
from  her  duty. 

"  G-od  can  take  better  care  of  them  than  you 
can,"  said  I. 

It  appeared  to  me  to  be  no  part  of  my  duty  to 
urge  her  to  unite  with  the  church.  I  never  had 
done  so.  I  believed  G-od  would  teach  her  her 
duty,  as  she  prayed  for  the  Holy  Spirit.  But 
I  often  exhorted  her  to  learn  her  duty  from  her 
Bible,  and  by  prayer  ;  and  when  she  had  learnt 
it,  to  do  it  in  good  faith,  and  fear  nothing.  And 
she  always  affirmed,  she  knew  her  "  duty  to  be, 
to  confess  Christ  before  the  world." 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  211 

Nearly  a  year  after  I  had  contrived  to  meet  her 
husband  at  his  house,  when  he  had  threatened  to 
put  me  out  of  the  house,  if  I  came  there ;  she 
sent  for  me.  I  went.  Immediately  after  I  enter- 
ed her  house  she  said  to  me  : — 

"  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  join  the  church, 
if  you  are  willing  to  receive  me.  I  know  I  ought 
to  have  done  it  before,  but  my  faith  was  weak.  I 
could  not  endure  the  thought  of  what  is  to  come 
upon  me  and  my  children.  After  I  got  over  all 
fear  on  my  own  account,  I  still  feared  for  them. 
And  even  now  I  am  afraid  my  faith  will  fail  me, 
when  the  communion  day  comes.  But  if  you 
are  willing  to  receive  me,  and  Grod  will  give  me 
strength,  I  will  go  forwards  where  my  Saviour 
commands." — I  said  to  her  : — 

"Fear  not,  for  I  have  redeemed  thee;  I  have 
called  thee  by  thy  name  ;  thou  art  mine.  When 
thou  passest  through  the  waters  I  will  be  with 
thee  ;  and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  over- 
flow thee ;  when  thou  passest  through  the  fire, 
thou  shalt  not  be  burnt ;  neither  shall  the  flame 
kindle  upon  thee.  For  I  am  the  Lord  thy  Grod, 
the  Holy  One  of  Israel,  thy  Saviour." 

"  Precious  promise  !"  said  she  ;  "  blessed  prom- 
ise !     Grod  has  said  it,  and  I  can  trust  him." 

She  appeared  very  solemn  indeed,  but  not  unhap- 
py. She  said  she  expected  ail-that  her  husband  had 
threatened  ;  but  she  had  for  months  been  thinking 


212  THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE. 

of  the  words  of  Christ,  which  I  had  quoted  to  her ; 
and  she  could  not  hesitate  any  longer.  "He  gave 
his  life  for  me,"  said  she  ;  "  and  shall  I  not  give 
my  worthless  life  for  him,  if  he  asks  it  ?" 

I  told  her  I  had  no  more  to  say  to  her,  than  I 
had  said  so  often  before.  But  she  must  tell  her 
husband,  that  I  had  been  there,  and  that  she  was 
going  to  obey  the  dying  command  of  Christ. 
"  You  may  tell  him,  that  you  have  done  your  duty 
to  him  and  to  the  children,  as  well  as  you  could, 
and  intend  to  continue  to  do  it,  as  a  good  wife  and 
mother  ought."  But  she  need  not  reason  with  him 
at  all,  if  he  made  any  opposition.  She  must  not 
dispute  or  argue.  And  I  would  call  to  see  her  the 
Saturday  before  the  communion  Sabbath. 

I  did  so.  She  informed  me  that  she  had  done 
as  I  advised  her.  She  told  her  husband  what  she 
meant  to  do  ;  and  he  replied  very  sullenly : — "  Well, 
you  know  what  I  told  you.  Not  a  day  shall  you 
stay  in  this  house  after  you  join  that  church  !  I 
luill  not  live  with  you — not  a  day  !" 

I  told  her  to  repeat  the  same  thing  to  him  again 
that  night.  I  afterwards  learnt  that  she  did  ;  and 
he  merely  replied  : — "  You  know  what  I  told  you 
—and  I'll  do  it  /» 

Their  house  was  situated  too  far  from  the 
church  for  her  to  walk  ;  and  some  one  must  take 
care  of  the  children,  while  she  was  absent  at 
church.     It  was  now  Saturday.     I  engaged  a  con- 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  213 

veyance  for  her  to  church,  and  procured  a  woman 
to  take  care  of  her  children  on  the  Sabbath. 

She  retired  to  bed  on  Saturday  night,  with  a 
heavy  heart.  The  thought  would  come  over  her 
mind,  time  after  time,  that  she  had  spent  her  last 
day  of  peace — that  before  another  night  should 
come,  her  family  would  be  broken  up,  and  she  and 
her  children  separated,  perhaps  forever,  without 
a  home,  and  without  a  friend  to  lean  upon.  She 
could  do  nothing  but  weep  and  pray;  and  she 
wept  and  prayed  till  she  fell  asleep. 

When  she  awoke  in  the  morning,  her  husband 
was  gone.  This  alarmed  her.  She  knew  not 
what  to  expect.  He  had  not  commonly  risen  on 
Sabbath  morning,  till  a  late  hour;  and  she  sup- 
posed his  doing  so  now  foreboded  no  good.  She 
hastily  rose,  dressed  herself,  looked  for  him  ; — he 
was  nowhere  to  be  found.  The  children  hunted 
for  him,  but  all  in  vain.  With  a  sad  heart  she 
busied  herself  in  preparing  breakfast,  and  in  about 
an  hour  he  came  in.  "  Wife,"  says  he,  (with  a 
sort  of  careless  accent ;)  "I  suppose  you  want  to 
go  to  church  to-day ;  and  it  is  too  far  for  you  to  go 
afoot.     You   know  I    am   too   poor   to   keep  any 

horse ;  and  I  have  been  down  to  Mr.  B 's  to 

get  a  ride  for  you  in  his  wagon.  He  says  you  can 
ride  with  him,  as  well  as  not,  if  you  want  to  go. 
And  I  will  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  the  chil- 
dren." 


214  THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE. 

She  was  so  astonished,  that  she  could  scarcely 
believe  her  ears.  She  hesitated  for  a  moment ; 
but  as  the  truth  burst  upon  her,  she  threw  her 
arms  around  his  neck,  and  wept  like  a  child.  He 
wept  too.  But  he  aimed  to  conceal  it ;  and  mak- 
ing some  expression  about  breakfast,  as  if  to  divert 
his  own  thoughts,  he  said  he  "  would  go  back  and 
tell  Mr.  B.  that  she  would  ride  with  him." 

She  did  ride  with  him.  Her  husband  stayed  at 
home  and  took  care  of  the  children.  "When  she 
returned  in  the  afternoon,  he  met  her  pleasantly ; 
and  when  in  the  evening  she  told  him,  (as  I  had 
directed  her  to  do,)  that  she  had  been  at  the  Lord's 
table ;  he  merely  replied  in  an  affectedly  careless 
manner,— "  Well,  what  of  that  ?" 

Ever  after  that  time,  he  made  no  opposition  to 
her  religion ;  but  would  take  pains  to  accommo- 
date her,  all  in  his  power.  He  would  procure 
some  means  for  her  to  attend  church ;  would  offer 
to  stay  with  the  children  while  she  was  gone  ;  and, 
in  every  possible  way,  aimed  to  gratify  her  desires 
about  her  religious  duties.  He  came  with  her  to 
the  church,  when  she  presented  her  children  for 
baptism.  For  a  time  he  was  more  temperate  ;  and 
we  had  no  small  hopes,  that  he  would  himself  turn 
to  the  Lord.  Indeed,  I  had  confidently  expected 
it,  all  along.  But  I  never  knew  of  any  decided 
change  in  his  habits.  Whenever  I  spoke  to  him 
about  his  wife  ;  he  seemed  to  be  glad  on  her  ac- 


THE     PERSECUTED     WIFE.  215 

count.  He  said  he  believed,  "  she  was  a  true 
Christian,  and  no  pretender  ;  and  wished  all  the 
members  of  the  church  were  as  good  as  she.', 
But  I  could  not  induce  him  to  seek  the  Lord. 

What  it  was,  that  produced  the  sudden  change 
in  his  feelings  on  that  Saturday  night,  I  never 
could  ascertain.  But  it  requires  no  great  amount 
of  faith  to  believe,  that  God  interposed  in  behalf 
of  that  praying  and  weeping  wife  ;  and  by  the 
power  of  his  own  Spirit  put  a  stop  to  the  opposi- 
tion and  rage  of  that  rebellious  man.  "  He 
maketh  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  him,  and  the 
remainder  of  that  wrath  he  will  restrain." 


THE  ARROW  DRIVEN  DEEPER. 


Finding  it  impossible  on  account  of  the  number, 
to  have  much  conversation  with  each  individual  at 
the  inquiry  meeting ;  I  at  one  time  abandoned  the 
practice  of  conversation  for  a  few  weeks,  and  ad- 
dressed them  all  together.  I  found  this  was  un- 
acceptable, and  concluded  therefore  to  return  to 
the  .  former  custom. — It  was  on  one  of  those  even- 
ings, when  about  seventy  persons  were  present, 
and  I  was  passing  rapidly  from  one  to  another,  that 
I  came  to  an  individual  who  had  never  been  there 
before.  Said  I :  "  What  is  the  state  of  your  feel- 
ings on  the  subject  of  your  salvation  ?"  "  I  feel," 
said  he,  "  that  I  have  a  very  wicked  heart."  "  It 
is  a  great  deal  more  wicked,  than  you  think  it," 
said  I ;  and  immediately  left  him,  and  addressed 
myself  to  the  next  person. 

I  thought  no  more  of  it,  till  a  few  days  after- 
wards, when  he  came  to  me  with  a  new  song  in 
his  mouth.     He  had  found  peace  with  God,  as  he 


THE     ARROW     DRIVEN     DEEPER.  217 

thought,  through  faith  in  Jesus  Christ.  Said  he  : 
M  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  good  you  did  me. 
When  I  told  you,  that  I  had  a  very  wicked  heart, 
and  you  answered,  that  it  was  a  great  deal  more 
wicked  than  I  thought,  and  then  said  nothing 
more  to  me ;  I  thought  it  a  most  cruel  thing.  I 
expected  something  different.  I  thought  you 
would  say  more ;  and  my  soul  was  wonderfully 
cast  down.  I  did  not  believe  you.  I  was  angry 
at  your  treatment.  I  thought  you  did  not  care, 
whether  I  was  ever  saved  or  not ;  and  I  did  not  be- 
lieve you  knew  anything  about  my  feelings.  But 
the  words  rung  in  my  ears, — '  a  great  deal  more 
wicked  than  you  think.'  I  could  not  get  rid  of 
them.  They  were  in  my  mind  the  last  thing 
when  I  went  to  sleep,  and  the  first  when  I  woke. 
And  then  I  would  be  vexed  at  you,  for  not  saying 
something  else.  But  that  was  the  thing,  which 
drove  me  to  Christ.  I  now  know,  it  was  just 
what  I  needed.  I  thought,  when  I  went  to  that 
meeting,  my  convictions  were  very  deep.  But  I 
have  found  out  they  were  very  slight.  You  hit 
my  case  exactly.  If  you  had  talked  to  me,  my 
burden  would  have  been  diminished.  But  you 
fastened  one  idea  on  my  mind.  You  drove  the 
arrow  deeper,  when  I  expected  you  to  do  just  the 
contrary ;  and  I  could  find  no  relief,  till  I  gave  up 
all  into  the  hands  of  Christ.  I  know  you  read  my 
heart  exactly." 

19 


218  THE     ARROW     DRIVEN     DEEPER. 

After  some  few  minutes'  conversation  with  him, 
he  said  to  me  : — "  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question. 
I  have  been  thinking  of  it  a  great  deal,  and  I  can- 
not conceive  how  you  know  what  to  say  to  each 
one,  where  there  are  so  many.  "We  have  been 
talking  about  it  some  of  us,  and  we  cannot  un- 
derstand how  it  is,  that  you  can  know  our 
thoughts  and  feelings,  when  nobody  has  told  you. 
How  can  you  tell  what  to  say  to  one  after  an- 
other, when  there  are  so  many,  and  you  have 
never  seen  some  of  them  before,  and  they  say  so 
little  to  you  ?— " 

"  I  have  only  one  rule  on  that  subject,"  said  I. 
"  I  aim  to  conspire  with  the  Holy  Spirit.  If  I 
perceive  any  one  truth  has  impressed  the  mind,  I 
aim  to  make  its  impression  deeper ;  because  the 
Holy  Spirit  has  already  made  that  impression,  and 
I  would  not  diminish  it  by  leading  the  mind  off  to 
something  else.  If  I  perceive  any  error  in  the  in- 
dividual's mind,  I  aim  to  remove  it ;  for  I  know 
that  the  error  is  of  sin,  and  not  of  the  Holy 
Spirit." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  our  impressions  are  so  differ- 
ent." 

"  No  matter.  They  are  of  the  Holy  Spirit  if 
truth  has  made  them ;  and  he  can  choose  the 
kind  of  truth  which  is  appropriate  to  any  sinner, 
better  than  I  can.  I  just  aim  to  conspire  with 
the  Holy  Spirit." 


THE     ARROW     DRIVEN     DEEPER.  219 

Said  he,  "  I  am  confident  if  you  had  said  much 
to  me,  or  anything,  to  turn  my  mind  away  from 
that  one  thing,  it  would  have  done  me  hurt. 
You  have  no  idea  how  much  you  increased  my 
trouble  that  night.  I  somehow  wanted  you  to 
lighten  my  burden, — you  made  it  heavier.  Then 
I  was  soon  led  to  see,  that  none  but  Grod  could 
help  me.  I  had  partly  begun  to  think  my  heart 
was  improving.  I  found  out  the  contrary,  and 
turned  to  God  in  despair.  He  gave  me  peace, 
through  Jesus  Christ." 


DIVIDED   MIND 


Tn  a  season  when  the  Holy  Spirit  was  poured 
o\x\  and  there  was  an  increasing  interest  in  re- 
ligion, and  an  increasing  number  of  sinners 
awakened  to  a  sense  of  their  lost  condition,  two 
young  persons,  who  had  become  serious  and 
prayerful,  were  induced  to  forsake,  in  part,  the 
services  of  our  congregation,  in  order  to  attend 
those  of  another  church,  where  there  was  also  an 
uncommon  degree  of  seriousness,  but  too  much 
noise  and  talk  on  the  subject, — too  much  said 
about  "revival"  "revival."  I  feared  the  result. 
A  divided  mind  has  poor  prospects  before  it.  I 
aimed  as  prudently  as  I  could,  to  put  a  stop  to 
the  course  of  these  young  persons,  but  in  vain. 
They  were  under  the  influence  of  a  very  zealous 
member  of  the  church,  who,  perhaps,  had  more 
zeal  than  knowledge. 

The  result  was  what  I  feared  it  would  be. 
They  were  both  left  without  grace.     They  attain- 


DIVIDED     MIND.  221 

ed  salvation  nowhere.  Almost  the  entire  number 
of  their  associates  among  us,  with  whom  they  had 
been  connected  in  the  commencement  of  their 
seriousness,  became  hopefully  the  children  of  Grod, 
and  united  with  the  church.  But  these  two  re- 
mained the  same  as  before.  It  appeared  manifest 
to  me,  all  along,  that  their  seriousness  really  di- 
minished, very  much  as  their  attention  was  di- 
vided. And  this  is  what  I  have  often  noticed. — 
If  our  church-members  were  wise,  they  would 
never  lend  themselves  to  do  this  kind  of  mischief. 
They  would  not  be  beguiled  into  it  through  the 
desire  to  be  esteemed  liberal,  and  above  bigoted 
notions,  or  through  the  pride  of  being  more  en- 
gaged in  religion  than  their  brethren,  and  wanting 
to  go  "  where  there  is  some  life," — "  some  real  re- 
ligion,"— "  where  the  Holy  Spirit  is  present." 

In  my  opinion,  these  young  persons  were  led 
away  from  their  duty,  and  thus  grieved  the  Spirit 
of  God.  Many  years  have  passed  away  since  that 
time  ;  and  neither  of  them  has  become  a  follower 
of  Christ. 

19* 


HUMAN   RESOLVES 


Two  young  girls  of  my  congregation,  about 
seventeen  years  of  age,  went  to  a  neighboring  town, 
where  there  was  a  religious  excitement ;  and  after 
remaining  there  about  two  days,  returned  home 
very  happy.  They  thought  they  had  attained  sal- 
vation by  faith  in  Christ. 

On  talking  with  them,  I  was  surprised  to  find 
them  so  little  sensible  of  the  extent  of  human  de- 
pravity, of  the  helplessness  of  human  nature,  and 
the  necessity  of  regeneration  by  the  Holy  Spirit. 
They  told  me,  that  they  had  been  rendered  sensible 
of  their  sin  and  danger,  had  resolved  to  go  to 
Christ ;  and  the  minister  told  them  that  was 
enough — if  they  really  resolved  to  give  up  the 
world  and  to  serve  (rod,  that  was  enough ;  and 
they  had  resolved  to  do  so.  This  appeared  to  me, 
to  be  all  the  reason  for  the  hope  which  made  them 
so  happy. 

But  their  religion  did  not  last  them  six  months. 


HUMAN     RESOLVES.  223 

At  least,  they  gave  no  evidence  of  it,  but  much 
to  the  contrary.  They  ceased  to  hope  and  ceased 
to  pray. 


Moral  suasion  is  one  thing,  and  the  Holy  Spirit 
is  another.  It  is  an  easy  thing  for  a  minister  to 
fix  a  hope  in  the  heart  of  an  alarmed  sinner,  but 
it  is  not  safe.  The  Bible  does  not  tell  us,  that  a 
sinner's  resolves  are  enough.  It  does  not  tell  us, 
the  resolves  are  regeneration. 


I  CAN'T   REPENT. 


One  of  the  most  solemn  assemblies  that  I  have 
ever  seen,  was  convened  on  the  evening  of  the 
Sabbath,  in  a  private  house.  It  was  an  inquiry 
meeting ;  at  which  more  than  a  hundred  persons 
were  present,  the  most  of  them  young  or  in  middle 
life.  The  structure  of  the  house  was  rather  pe- 
culiar. There  was  a  spacious  hall,  about  ten  feet 
wide  and  about  forty  feet  long,  extending  from  the 
front  door  along  the  side  of  three  parlors  which 
opened  into  it,  as  well  as  into  each  other  ;  and  at 
the  rear  part  of  this  hall  was  a  stair-case  extend- 
ing to  the  second  story  of  the  house.  Moveable 
benches  were  introduced  into  this  hall,  and  placed 
along  each  side  of  it,  to  afford  seats  for  those  who 
attended  this  meeting,  and  who  could  not  all  be 
accommodated  in  the  parlors.  After  the  meetings 
had  been  continued  in  this  place  for  a  few  weeks  ; 
it  became  manifest,  that  the  hall  was  the  preferred 
place.     As  the  different  persons  came  in  and  took 


225 


their  seats  where  they  pleased,  the  seats  in  the 
hall  would  be  filled,  and  then  the  stairs  would  be 
used  as  seats  entirely  to  the  top,  and  then  the  up- 
per hall  would  be  occupied,  and  finally  the  parlors. 
I  was  accustomed  to  stand,  while  addressing  the 
assembly,  in  one  of  the  doors  opening  from  the  hall 
into  the  parlor,  where  my  eye  had  a  full  view  of 
all  those  in  the  hall,  on  the  stairs  and  in  one  of  the 
parlors.  Besides  a  general  exhortation,  it  was  my 
ordinary  custom  to  speak  to  each  individual,  pass- 
ing from  one  to  another.  And  all  those  in  the  hall 
and  on  the  stairs  could  hear  every  word,  which  I 
uttered  in  this  conversation,  and  the  most  of  what 
any  one  said  to  me.  And  for  these  reasons,  as  I 
supposed,  the  persons  who  resorted  there  would 
choose  the  hall  or  the  stairs.  This  listening  of 
others,  to  what  passed  in  conversation  betwixt 
any  one  individual  and  myself,  was  never  very 
pleasant  to  me.  I  should  greatly  have  preferred 
to  converse  with  each  one  alone ;  as  there  would 
have  been  less  restraint  on  their  part,  and  on  my 
own,  more  certainty,  that  what  I  was  saying  would 
be  truly  applicable  and  would  not  be  applied  by 
any  one,  for  whom  it  was  not  intended.  And  be- 
sides this,  individuals  would  sometimes  make  ex- 
pressions to  me  so  erroneous,  that  I  was  unwilling 
others  should  hear  them,  lest  they  might  be  injured 
by  it.  To  avoid  this,  I  used  to  speak  in  a  low  tone 
of  voice ;  and  if  the  expressions  of  any  individual 


226 


were  becoming  such,  as  I  feared  might  be  inju- 
rious ;  I  usually  broke  off  the  conversation  sud- 
denly, by  saying,  I  will  call  and  see  you  to-mor- 
row. 

On  the  evening,  to  which  I  now  allude  ;  all  the 
seats  were  filled,  and  three  persons  were  seated  on 
each  stair  entirely  to  the  top,  and  many  had  found 
their  place  in  the  hall  above.  It  was  a  calm  and 
niild  summer  evening ;  and  perfect  stillness  reign- 
ed over  the  crowd  assembled  there,  unbroken  ex- 
cept by  the  long  breathing  or  the  deep  sigh  of 
some  pensive  soul.  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  so 
still,  so  solemn,  and  thoughtful  an  assembly.  I 
closed  the  front  door,  after  all  had  entered,  and 
took  my  stand  in  my  accustomed  place.  I  hesi- 
tated to  speak.  I  was  afraid  to  utter  a  word.  It 
seemed  to  me,  that  anything  I  could  say  would  be 
less  solemn,  impressive,  instructive,  than  that 
tomb-like  silence  in  an  assembly  of  so  many  im- 
mortal souls,  each  visited  by  the  Holy  Spirit.  1 
stood,  for  some  time,  in  perfect  silence.  The 
power  of  that  silence  was  painful.  The  people  sat 
before  me,  like  statues  of  marble, — not  a  move- 
ment,— not  a  sound.  It  appeared  as  if  they  had 
all  ceased  to  breathe.  I  broke  the  silence  by  say- 
ing slowly  and  in  a  low  voice  : — "  Each  one  of  you 
is  thinking  of  his  own  immortal  soul  and  of  his 
Grod."  Again  I  paused  for  the  space  of  an  entire 
minute  ;  for  I  was  overawed,  and  knew  not  what 


22^ 


to  say.  Then  falling  on  my  knees,  I  commenced 
prayer.  They  all  spontaneously  knelt.  After  a 
short  prayer,  I  proposed  to  speak  a  few  words  to 
each  one  of  them,  as  far  as  it  was  possible  ;  and 
requested  all  of  them,  except  the  individual  with 
whom  I  should  be  conversing,  to  be  engaged  in 
reflection  or  in  silent  prayer  to  Grod.  Passing 
rapidly  from  one  to  another,  I  had  spoken  to  all 
those  in  the  parlors  and  in  the  hall,  till  I  had 
reached  about  the  middle  of  it,  where  every  word 
spoken  could  be  heard,  by  the  whole  assembly. 
Coming  to  a  man,  about  thirty  years  of  age,  whom 
I  had  seen  there  three  times  before,  I  said  to 
him: — 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  here  to-night.  I 
thought  you  would  have  come  to  repentance,  be- 
fore this  time ;  and  would  have  no  occasion  any 
longer  to  ask,  what  shall  I  do  to  be  saved  ?" 

"  I  canH  repent,"  said  he,  (with  a  sort  of  deter- 
mined and  despairing  accent,  and  so  loudly  as  to 
startle  us  all.)  Instantly,  I  felt  sorry  for  this  ex- 
pression. But  I  thought  it  would  not  do  to  avoid 
noticing  it,  and  leave  it  sounding  in  the  ears  of  so 
many  impenitent  sinners.  I  immediately  answer- 
ed, as  I  stood  before  him,  as  gently  and  yet  sol- 
emnly as  I  could  : — 

"  What  an  awfully  wicked  heart  you  must 
have  !  You  can't  repent !  You  love  sin  so  well ; 
that  you  cannot  be  sorry  for  it — you  cannot  for- 


228 


sake  it — you  cannot  hate  it ! — You  must  be  in  an 
aw  ful  condition  indeed  !  You  are  so  much  the 
enemy  of  God  ;  that  you  cannot  be  sorry  for  hav- 
ing offended  him — you  cannot  cease  to  contend 
against  him — and  even  now,  while  you  are  sensi- 
ble of  the  impropriety  and  unhappiness  of  it,  you 
cannot  cease  to  resist  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  strives 
with  you  to  bring  you  to  repentance  ! — You  must 
have  an  awfully  depraved  heart !" 

"  I  canH  repent"  said  he  again,  (with  an  accent 
of  grief  and  intolerable  vexation) — "  I  can't  repent, 
with  such  a  heart !" 

"  That  means,"  said  I,  "  that  you  have  become 
too  wicked  to  desire  to  become  any  better  ;  for 
nothing  but  wickedness  makes  repentance  difficult. 
And  then,  you  just  plead  one  sin,  as  an  excuse  for 
another — the  sin  of  your  heart,  as  an  excuse  for 
the  continued   sin  of  your  heart  !" 

Still  he  insisted.  "  I  can't  repent !  I  should  if 
I  could  !" — (and  the  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks, 
of  which  he  seemed  to  be  utterly  unconscious,  as 
well  as  unconscious  o£  the  presence  of  any  one  but 
myself.) 

"  You  would  if  you  could,"  said  I,  "  is  only  a 
self-righteous  and  self-justifying  excuse.  Your 
deceitful  heart  means  by  it,  that  you  are  not  so 
wicked  as  to  continue  in  your  impenitence  wil- 
lingly. It  means  that  you  are  willing  to  repent, 
but  vou  cannot.     You  are  deceived.     You  are  not 


229 


willing.  You  think  you  are,  but  you  are  in  an  er- 
ror. You  never  will  be  willing,  unless  Grod  shall  ver- 
ify in  you  the  promise,  '  My  people  shall  be  willing 
in  the  day  of  my  power.'  In  that  power  lies  your 
only  hope,  as  I  have  told  you  before,  when  I  urged 
you  to  pray.  If  you  are  willing  to  repent,  what 
hinders  you  ?  I  am  willing  you  should  repent. 
All  of  us  here  are  willing.  Every  angel  in 
heaven  is  willing  you  should  repent.  Christ  who 
died  to  redeem  you  is  willing.  Gfod  the  Father  is 
willing.  The  Holy  Spirit  is  willing,  who,  at  this 
moment  strives  with  you  to  bring  you  to  repent- 
ance. What  hinders  you,  then  ?  Yourself  only  ! 
And  when  you  say  you  can't  repent,  you  mean 
that  you  are  not  to  be  blamed  for  coming  here  to- 
night with  an  impenitent  heart.  You  are  wofully 
deceived !  Grod  blames  you  !  The  whole  Bible 
blames  you  !  Your  own  conscience,  though  you 
strive  to  silence  it,  blames  you  ! — This  excuse 
will  not  stand  !" 

"  I  canH  repent  /"  said  he  again,  (in  a  harsh, 
vociferating  voice,  as  if  in  anger.) 

"  Then  Grod  can't  save  you,"  said  I ;  "  for  he 
cannot  lie,  and  he  has  said  the  impenitent  shall 
be  destroyed  !  You  say  you  cannot  repent.  He 
has  not  said  so.     He  commands  you  to  repent." 

He  replied,  with  much  agitation,  but  in  a  sub- 
dued tone  : — "  I  am  sure  I  have  tried  long  ;   and 

20 


230  i   can't   repent. 

my  mind  has  been  greatly  tormented.  All  has 
done  no  good.     I  do  not  see  as  I  can  repent !" 

"  Other  people  have  repented,"  said  I.  "  There 
are  a  great  many  penitents  in  the  world.  I  find 
there  are  some  here  to-night,  who  think  they  have 
come  to  repentance,  since  they  were  here  last 
Sabbath  evening.  One  of  them  told  me  then,  very 
much  the  same  thing  you  tell  me  now,  that  it  did 
not  seem  to  him  he  ever  could  turn  from  sin  ;  but 
he  has  found  out  he  can.  As  to  your  having  tried 
so  long,  the  length  of  time  will  not  save  you.  If 
a  man  has  got  his  face  turned  the  wrong  way,  the 
longer  he  goes  on,  the  worse  off  he  becomes.  He 
would  do  well  to  stop,  and  turn  about.  Such  is 
the  call  of  the  Bible  :  '  Turn  ye,  turn  ye,  for  why 
will  ye  die  ?  Repent,  and  turn  yourselves  from 
all  your  transgressions,  so  iniquity  shall  not  be 
your  ruin.  Let  the  wicked  forsake  his  way,  and 
the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts,  and  let  him  re- 
turn unto  the  Lord.'  Other  people  have  turned 
to  Grod,  and  you  ought  to.  But  your  mind  has 
seized  on  the  idea  of  your  trying  and  your  trouble, 
and  you  make  an  excuse  and  a  self-righteousness 
of  them." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  self-righteous  ?"  said  he. 

"  I  know  you  are.  That  is  your  grand  diffi- 
culty. You  have  been  trying  to  save  yourself. 
You  are  trying  now.  When  you  tried  to  repent, 
your  heart   aimed   after  repentance,  as  something 


231 

to  recommend  you  to  Grod,  and  constitute  a  reason 
why  he  should  forgive  and  save  you.  It  was  just 
an  operation  of  a  self-righteous  spirit.  It  was  just 
an  attempt  to  save  yourself,  to  have  your  religion 
save  you,  instead  of  relying  by  faith  upon  Jesus 
Christ,  to  be  saved  from  wrath  through  him.  This 
is  precisely  the  case  with  every  impenitent  sinner. 
The  error  is  one.  The  forms  of  it  may  be  various  ; 
but  in  all  cases  it  is  substantially  the  same  thing. 
St.  Paul  has  given  a  perfect  description  of  it : 
'  going  about,'  (from  one  thing  to  another,  from 
one  device  or  attempt  to  another,)  '  going  about  to 
establish  a  righteousness  of  their  own,  they  have 
not  submitted  themselves  to  the  righteousness  of 
God ;  for  Christ  is  the  end  of  the  law  for  right- 
eousness to  every  one  that  believeth.'  One  man 
tries  to  establish  a  righteousness  of  his  own,  out 
of  his  reformations  ;  another  one,  out  of  his  duties ; 
another,  out  of  his  painful  attempts  or  painful  con- 
victions ;  as  yon  just  now  mentioned  your  own 
torments  of  mind.  It  is  evident,  that  you  are  try- 
ing to  be  righteous  before  (rod,  through  your  pain 
and  your  attempted  penitence.  And  if  yon  should 
find  any  peace  of  mind  in  that  way ;  it  would  only 
be  a  deception,  not  an  item  of  religion  in  it.  You 
ought  to  betake  yourself  to  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
a  poor,  guilty,  undone  sinner,  to  be  saved  by  him 
alone — saved  by  grace.  You  ought  to  go  to  him, 
just   as  you  are,  to  be  washed  in  his  blood,  to  be 


232 


clothed  in  his  righteousness,  to  be  sheltered  from 
the  thunders  of  God's  eternal  law,  in  the  security 
of  his  all-sufficient  atonement.  You  ought  to  flee 
to  Christ,  like  the  man-slayer  to  the  city  of  refuge, 
before  he  is  cut  down  by  the  sword  of  the  avenger 
of  blood.  You  ought  to  go  instantly,  like  the  prod- 
igal to  his  father,  in  all  his  poverty,  starvation,  and 
rags,  as  well  as  guilt.  You  ought  to  cry,  like 
Peter  sinking  in  the  waves,  "  Lord,  save  me." 
But  instead  of  this,  you  are  just  looking  to  your- 
self, striving  to  find  something,  or  make  something 
in  your  own  heart,  which  shall  recommend  you  to 
(rod.  And  in  this  miserable  way,  you  are  making 
salvation  a  far  more  difficult  matter,  than  (rod  has 
made  it.  You  have  forgotten  the  free  grace  of  the 
gospel,  the  full  atonement  of  Jesus  Christ,  by  the 
sacrifice  of  himself." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  I  can't  repent  and  come  to 
Christ,  of  myself  " 

"  i"  certainly  never  said  you  could  ;  and  never 
wished  you  to  think  you  could.  In  my  opinion, 
God  does  not  wish  you  to  think  so.  And  if  you 
have  found  out,  that  you  cannot  repent  of  yourself, 
aside  from  divine  aid,  I  am  glad  of  it — you  have 
found  out  an  important  truth.  Most  certainly 
God  does  not  tell  you  to  repent  of  yourself  .  He 
tells  you,  that  *  Christ  is  exalted  to  give  repent- 
ance.' He  says  to  every  sinner,  '  Thou  hast  de- 
stroyed thyself,  in  me   is  thy  help  :  let  him  take 


233 


hold  on  my  strength  that  he  may  make  peace  with 
me,  and  he  shall  make  peace  with  me.'  On  the 
ground  that  they  need  it,  he  has  promised  '  the 
Holy  Spirit  to  them  that  ask  him.'  G-od  never  ex- 
pects you  to  repent,  without  divine  aid,  but  with 
it.  He  knows  you  are  too  wicked  to  do  it,  that 
you  are  without  strength,  helpless,  undone,  a  lost 
sinner ! — And  here  lies  the  very  heart  of  your 
error.  You  have  been  trying  to  repent,  in  a  way 
that  G-od  never  told  you,  just  by  your  own  powers, 
instead  of  trying  to  get  God  to  have  mercy  upon 
you,  and  save  you  by  his  help.  You  have  been 
looking  to  the  powers  within  you,  instead  of  look- 
ing to  the  aid  above  you.  You  have  trusted  to 
yourself,  instead  of  trusting  yourself  to  the  grace 
of  Christ.  And  that  is  the  very  reason  why  you 
have  failed  ;  and  now  you  complain,  that  you  can- 
not repent ;  while,  in  reality,  you  have  exactly  the 
same  sufficiency,  as  the  penitent  all  around  you. 
"What  has  been  their  help,  may  be  your  help.  And 
the  sooner  you  are  driven  off  from  all  that  self- 
seeking  and  self-reliance,  the  better  it  will  be  for 
you.  You  are  in  the  double  error  of  undervaluing 
the  character  of  God,  and  over- valuing  your  own. 
God  is  more  merciful  and  more  gracious,  than  you 
think  him  to  be.  He  is  more  ready  to  save  you. 
And  when  he  commands  you  to  repent,  he  does 
not  wish  you  to  forget,  that  all  your  hope  lies  in 
the  immediate  aid  of  his   Holy  Spirit.     Nor  does 

20* 


234 


he  wish  you  to  attempt  to  dispense  with  that  prof- 
fered assistance,  by  your  not  believing,  that  you 
are  as  utterly  helpless  as  you  really  are.  He  does 
not  tell  you  to  rely  upon  your  own  shattered 
strength  ;  but  you  have  done  so.  And  when  you 
have  failed,  you  then  turn  round  and  complain, 
that  you  '  can't  repent.'  You  reject  his  offered 
help — the  help  of  the  omnipotent  Spirit.  And  for 
this  reason,  you  will  be  the  more  criminal,  if  you 
do  not  repent.  That  Divine  Spirit  is  your  only 
hope.  If  he  leaves  you  to  yourself,  you  are  lost — 
eternally  lost !  Tread  softly,  my  dear  friend ! 
The  ground  whereon  thou  standest  is  holy  ground ! 
Let  not  the  Holy  Spirit,  who  presides  over  the 
souls  here  this  evening,  bear  witness  against  you 
in  the  day  of  the  final  judgment, — '  because  I  have 
called  and  ye  refused  !'  You  can  repent ;  just  in 
the  way  that  others  repent ;  just  because  Grod  is 
your  help.  Trust  him  ;  and  rely  upon  yourself  no 
longer/' 

As  I  was  saying  these  things,  he  appeared  to  be- 
come much  less  affected,  but  much  more  thought- 
ful. His  tears  and  his  agitations  ceased  ;  and  he 
seemed  to  h*ang  upon  my  lips,  as  if  he  was  listen- 
ing to  some  new  wonder.  When  I  had  done,  all 
was  hushed  as  death ;  and  in  a  deliberate,  sub- 
dued, and  solemn  tone,  he  broke  that  expressive 
silence,  saying : — 

"  I  hope,  my  God  will  help  me." 


i    can't    repent.  235 

"  Let  us  pray,"  said  I ; — and  a  short  prayer, 
pleading  far  Grod's  help,  closed  the  exercises  of  the 
evening. 

I  afterwards  found  numerous  reasons  for  believ- 
ing, that  that  was  one  of  the  most  profitable  re- 
ligious exercises,  that  I  ever  attended.  Among 
others  was  the  case  of  my  friend,  whose  expression 
had  drawn  me  somewhat  out  of  my  proposed  mode 
of  conducting  the  exercises  of  the  evening.  He 
became,  as  he  hoped,  a  true  believer.  He  stated 
to  me  the  exercises  of  his  mind,  his  repentance, 
his  faith  in  Christ,  his  peace  and  hope,  and  his  re- 
liance upon  the  Holy  Spirit.  His  mind  appeared 
to  seize  upon  the  great  truths  of  the  gospel,  almost 
without  emotion.  He  had  no  ecstacy,  no  exulta- 
tion, no  joy.  He  had  only  peace  and  hope.  He 
told  me,  that  his  agitations  had  all  been  useless  to 
him  ;  that  they  were  not  faith  and  did  not  lead  to 
faith;  and  that  he  thought  "  sinners  ought  to  at- 
tend to  the  calls  of  Grod,  in  a  believing  and  busi- 
ness manner."  And  when  I  asked  him  what  had 
kept  him  from  Christ  so  long,  he  replied  :  "I  was 
trying  to  make  myself  better — to  have  a  religion 
instead  of  trusting  in  Christ.  What  you  said  to 
me  that  night,  showed  me  my  mistake ;  and  I 
went  home  with  a  deeper  sense  of  my  dependence, 
and  a  clear  view  of  the  free  grace  of  Grod  to  sin- 
ners, through  the  redemption  of  Christ." 

About  six  months  after  this,  he  united  with  the 


236  i    can't   repent. 

church,  and  has  continued  to  manifest  an  estab- 
lished and  uniform  faith. 


To  cut  off  the  sinner  from  all  reliance  upon  him- 
self, his  merits  and  his  powers  ;  and  throw  him, 
naked  and  helpless,  into  the  hands  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  to  lead  him  to  Christ  in  faith  ;  should  be  the 
one  great  aim  of  the  ministry. 

Sinners  certainly  ought  to  repent,  for  God  com- 
mands them  to  repent.  But  in  my  opinion,  he 
does  not  design  to  have  them  understand  his  com- 
mand,  as  having  respect  only  to  their  own  ability 
to  repent,  and  not  having  respect  to  the  proffered 
aids  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  Such  aids  constitute  one 
grand  ground  on  which  his  command  is  obligatory, 
and  sweep  away  every  possible  excuse.  No  man 
ever  did  repent  without  the  Holy  Spirit,  or  ever 
will ;  and  this  is  no  small  amount  of  proof  that  no 
man  ever  can.  Nothing  seems  to  be  gained  by 
making  a  sinner  believe  that  he  is  able  to  repent 
without  divine  assistance.  Such  a  belief  will  be 
very  likely  to  mislead  him  to  a  reliance  upon  his 
own  shattered  strength.  And  as  to  his  conviction 
of  criminality  for  not  coming  to  repentance,  surely 
there  is  strong  ground  for  such  conviction,  since 
G-od  offers  him  all  the  ability  he  needs, — in  me  is 
thy  kelp, — let  him  take  hold  on  my  strength  that 
he  may  make  peace  with  me. 


A    STRANGE    SNARE, 


\  YobisG  man  about  nineteen  years  of  age,  a 
niwrtber  of  my  congregation,  was  a  hopeful  con- 
vert to  Chri»t,  at  the  time  of  a  general  revival  of 
religion.  I  felt  a  more  than  common  interest  in 
him,  on  account  of  my  intimacy  with  his  family, 
his  own  intelligence  and  education,  and  my  hope 
that  he  would  become  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  I 
had  not  so  much  personal  acquaintance  with  him, 
as  with  most  of  those,  who  had  been  led  to  seek 
the  Lord.  He  was  very  retiring,  and  it  was  not 
easy  to  know  so  much  of  him,  as  I  desired.  But  I 
had  often  conversed  with  him  about  his  hope  in 
Christ,  and  knew  him  well  enough  to  know,  that 
there  was  something  a  little  peculiar  about  his 
turn  of  mind,  or  way  of  thinking.  But  I  saw 
nothing  in  him,  that  led  me  to  doubt  his  piety. 
He  was  very  attentive  to  his  religious  duties,  and 
to  me  he  appeared  humble  and  devoted.  I  had 
often  conversed  with  him  about  the  evidences  of 


238  A     STRANGE     SNARE. 

his  faith. ;  and  just  before  our  season  of  com- 
munion, he  came  to  converse  with  me  alone,  in  re- 
spect to  his  uniting  with  the  church.  He  deemed 
that  to  be  his  duty. 

After  considerable  conversation  on  the  evidences 
of  his  piety,  and  the  nature  and  design  of  divine 
ordinances  ;  he  said  to  me  rather  suddenly,  and  as 
if  he  had  just  thought  of  it : — 

"  My  opinion  is,  that  immersion  is  the  right 
way  of  baptism." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I.  "  What  makes  you  think 
so?" 

"  Christ  was  immersed,"  said  he. 

"  I  do  not  believe  he  was,"  said  I.  "  There  is 
not  an  item  of  proof  that  he  was.  There  are 
strong  reasons  for  believing  the  contrary.  But, 
suppose  he  was  immersed.  So  he  was  crucified. 
— But  why  was  he  baptized  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he  ;  "  for  an  example  to 
us,  I  suppose." 

"  "What  makes  you  suppose  so  ?" 

"Why — why — I  thought  so,"  said  he,  hesitat- 
ingly- 

"  And  did  you  think  he  was  crucified  for  an  ex- 
ample to  us  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !" 

"  Why  not  ?  If  his  baptism  was  an  example 
for  us  to  follow,  why  not  his  crucifixion  also  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I  never  thought  of  that  " 


A     STRANGE     SNARE.  239 

"  Does  the  Bible  teach  you  that  Christ's  bap- 
tism was  an  example  for  us  to  follow,  any  more 
than  his  crucifixion,  or  his  fasting  forty  days  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  he. 

"  "Was  Christ  baptized  for  the  same  reason  that 
his  followers  are  to  be  baptized  ?  or  was  he  bap- 
tized as  an  official  induction  into  the  priestly  of- 
fice, as  Aaron  and  his  sons,  and  the  Levites  were 
ordered  to  be  sprinkled  with  water  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  he. 

"  "What  does  our  baptism  mean  ?"  said  I. 

"It  is  a  sign  of  the  washing  away  of  sin," 
said  he. 

"  Was  Christ  a  sinner  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  !" 

"  Why,  then,  was  such  a  sign  applied  to  him  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  cannot  tell.     I  never  thought  of  it." 

"  Was  Christ's  baptism  Christian  baptism  ? 
was  the  Christian  dispensation  established  at  that 
time  ?" 

"  I  cannot  answer." 

"  Had  the  Jewish  dispensation  come  to  an 
end  ?" 

"  I  cannot  answer  that." 

"  Was  Christ  baptized  in  the  name  of  the 
Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost  ?" 

"  I  never  thought  of  that." 

I  then  said  to  him,  that  I  had  no  objections  to 
make  against  immersion,  n:  fault   to  find  with 


240  A     STRANGE     SNARE. 

those  who  practiced  it,  and  no  objections  to  his 
uniting  with  that  excellent  Christian  denomina- 
tion. But  it  was  manifest,  that  he  had  not  studied 
the  subject  very  much ;  and  it  would  be  best 
for  him  to  take  time  and  examine  it  well,  before 
he  united  with  any  church.  He  would  then  be 
better  satisfied  with  himself,  than  if  he  acted 
hastily. 

He  cordially  assented  to  this,  and  afterwards 
came  to  me  repeatedly,  naming  some  passages  of 
the  Bible,  which  he  thought  favored  immersion  ; 
and  as  often  as  he  came,  I  gave  him  my  views 
upon  them,  which  he  confessed  appeared  to  him 
just  and  fair.  He  could  find  no  fault  with  them. 
In  this  way,  we  examined  all  the  passages  of  the 
scriptures,  which  he  thought  related  to  the  subject. 
He  said  he  could  find  no  more  ;  and  could  not 
disprove  or  dispute  the  explanations  I  had  given. 

I  then  presented  the  passages  and  the  argu- 
ments on  the  othei  side  of  the  question ;  telling 
him  to  detect  any  error  into  which  I  might  fall, 
and  that  I  was  willing  to  be  a  Baptist  myself,  if 
the  Bible  would  make  me  so.  But  he  did  not 
pretend,  that  anything  I  said  was  inconclusive. 

Some  months  had  passed,  since  he  began  to 
study  the  subject  and  come  to  me  with  his  texts 
on  baptism,  when  he  said  to  me  one  day : — 

"  "What  objections  have  you  to  immersion  ?" 

"  None  at  all,"  said  I.     "  In  my  opinion  im- 


A     STRANGE     SNARE.  241 

mersion  is  a  baptism  acceptable  to  God,  if  those 
who  practice  it  are  conscientious ;  but  I  do  not 
believe  it  is  the  only  acceptable  baptism." 

Said  he,  "  Would  you  be  willing  to  baptize  any 
one  by  immersion  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  three  things  being  out  of  the  way,  I 
should.  First,  if  there  was  no  Baptist  church  in 
t^ie  place,  that  the  individual  could  attend.  Sec- 
ond, if  he  had  not  been  baptized  in  infancy. 
Third,  if  I  thought  he  were  truly  conscientious  in 
the  matter,  and  were  not  making  too  much  of  that 
ordinance,  that  is,  placing  an  undue  reliance  upon 
it." 

"  "Would  you  be  willing  to  immerse  me  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  on  these  conditions." 

"  Well,"  says  he,  "  I  have  never  been  baptized, 
and  there  is  no  Baptist  church  here  for  me  to  at- 
tend.    These  are  two  of  the  conditions." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "do  you  think  immersion  need- 
ful, when  you  cannot,  as  you  confess,  bring  a 
single  passage  of  the  Bible  to  prove  it ;  and  cannot 
answer  one  of  my  arguments  and  proofs  to  the 
contrary  ?  You  will  have  hard  work  to  convince 
me  of  your  conscientiousness  and  sincerity,  if  you 
are  not  going  to  be  governed  by  a  fair  interpreta- 
tion of  the  scriptures.  A  believer  must  have  a 
Bible  conscience.  And  if  any  one  talks  to  me 
about  conscience  in  any  religious  matter,  and 
leaves  his  Bible  behind  him  ;  I  shall  be  very  apt 


242  A     STRANGE     Si\  ARE. 

to  think  his  conscience  needs  a  baptizing  with  the 
Holy  Spirit,  before  I  will  baptize  him." 

"  I  do  mean  to  be  conscientious,"  says  he. 

"  According  to  the  Bible  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "  that  is  the  only  rule." 

"  Yery  well ;  go  to  work.  You  have  to  con- 
vince me  of  your  piety  and  of  your  conscientious 
belief  in  immersion,  as  being  taught  in  -the  Bible  ; 
and  when  you  have  done  so,  I  will  immerse  you, 
if  you  desire  it.  But  if  you  become  a  Baptist, 
I  advise  you  to  join  the  Baptist  church,  not 
ours." 

"  I  could  not  do  that,"  said  he.  "  They  reject 
infant  baptism,  and  hold  to  close  communion  ;  and 
I  do  not  agree  with  them." 

After  this  he  often  called  upon  me  ;  and  finally 
he  did  convince  me,  that  he  was  sincere  and  con- 
scientious about  immersion.  He  confessed  he 
could  not  show,  that  immersion  was  the  Bible 
mode  of  baptism;  and  could  not  pretend,  that  I 
had  misinterpreted  a  single  text  in  defending  my 
practice.  But  after  all,  he  said  it  did  appear  to 
him,  that  immersion  was  right ;  he  should  be  bet- 
ter satisfied  that  he  had  done  his  duty,  if  he  were 
immersed  ;  and  begged  me  to  immerse  him. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  I.  "A  few  questions  first. 
What  does  baptism  mean  ?" 

He  replied  :  "  Just  what  you  ha  ve  often  explain- 
ed it — a  sign  and  seal  of  the  covenant  of  Christ,  a 


A     STRANGE     SNARE.  243 

representation  of  cleansing  from  the  pollutions  of 
sin  by  the  Holy  Spirit." 

"  Well ;  in  your  opinion,  is  it  essential  on  what 
day  of  the  month  or  of  the  week  it  is  done  ?" 

"  No.  The*  New  Testament  does  not  limit  us  to 
any  particular  day." 

M  In  your  opinion,  is  it  any  matter  what  o'clock 
it  is,  when  one  is  baptized  ?" 

"  "Why,  no !" 

"In  your  opinion  is  it  any  matter  how  many 
ministers  are  present,  when  baptism  is  adminis- 
tered ?" 

"  Why,  no  !" 

"  Well,  then;  in  your  opinion,  is  it  any  mat- 
ter how  many  other  people  are  present?  If  a 
minister  and  the  person  to  be  baptized  are  alone, 
like  Philip  and  the  Eunuch,  would  that  be  good 
baptism  ?" 

"  Certainly ;  I  think  so." 

"Yerj  well.  Put  on  your  hat.  Let  us  go 
down  to  the  river,  and  I  will  baptize  you  now. 
(He  hesitated.)  "  Come,  it  is  a  fine,  warm  day — 
nobody  will  see  us — I  never  will  tell  of  it — it  shall 
remain  a  perfect  secret — come,  let  us  go."  (I  had 
risen,  put  on  my  hat,  and  opened  the  door.) 
."  What  do  you  hesitate  for  ?     Come  on." 

"What!  now?"  said  he,  (sitting  still.) 

"Yes;  now.  I  want  your  conscience  to  be 
satisfied ;    and   we   have    spent    months   enough 


244  A     STRANGE     SNARE. 

studying  this  matter.  Come  on.  Let  us  go  to 
the  river." 

"  What  !  all  alone  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  like  Philip  and  the  Eunuch.  You  said  it 
was  no  matter  whether  anybody  was  present  or 
not." 

He  seemed  confounded.  But  he  would  not  go. 
I  urged  him.  I  appealed  to  his  conscience,  which 
demanded  immersion.  I  exhorted  him,  not  to  vio- 
late his  conscience — neglect  his  duty — and  destroy 
his  peace  of  mind.  But  I  could  not  start  him. 
There  he  stood,  mute,  confused,  and  ashamed.  I 
urged  him  to  tell  why  he  would  not  go  ;  but  he 
gave  no  answer.  The  more  I  insisted,  the  more 
he  seemed  resolved  not  to  be  baptized. 

After  spending  half  an  hour  in  this  way,  I  said 
to  him : — 

"  You  have  lost  my  confidence  entirely !  A 
little  while  ago,  I  believed  you  sincere ;  but  I  do 
not  believe  it  now.  If  you  were  sincere,  actuated 
by  conscience,  by  a  sense  of  duty,  as  you  pretend ; 
you  would  not  hesitate  to  go  with  me  and  be  bap- 
tized. But  I  cannot  baptize  you  now  by  immer- 
sion, or  in  any  other  mode.  I  have  lost  my  confi- 
dence in  you.  Have  patience  a  moment ;  and  I 
will  lift  the  veil  that  hides  your  heart,  and  give 
you  a  little  glimpse  of  what  lies  within.  You 
thought  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  immersed, 
to  have  the   credit   of  an  independent  mind ;- 


A     STRANGE     SNARE.  245 

perhaps,  you  were  tickled  with  the  idea,  that  I  and 
all  the  people  should  parade  away  down  to  the 
water  on  Sunday,  yourself  the  hero  of  the  scene, 
to  be  talked  about  among  us.  Such  a  baptism 
would  make  a  good  deal  of  noise  here,  and  you 
liked  it  in  your  vanity. — That  is  your  heart.  You 
may  study  it  at  your  leisure.  But  never  talk  to 
me  about  conscience  again,  while  under  the  influ- 
ence of  such  a  heart. — You  may  go.  I  have  no 
more  to  say  to  you." 

He  left  me,  seeming  to  feel,  that  he  had  escaped 
out  of  the  paw  of  the  lion. 

It  was  not  three  months  after  this,  before  I 
heard  of  his  extravagant  levity,  and  his  sneers  at 
religion.  He  became  apparently  very  hardened ; 
and  in  this  course  of  life  he  continued  for  months. 

But  God  did  not  leave  him  at  peace  in  his  sin. 
He  was  arrested  in  his  career  ;  and  finally  became 
hopefully  a  convert  to  Christ.  He  came  to  me,  to 
tell  me  his  altered  feelings.  And  finally,  when  he 
was  examined  for  admission  into  the  church ;  he 
told  me  he  was  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of 
what  I  had  said  to  him  about  his  heart,  at  the 
time  when  he  wanted  to  be  immersed.  He  said 
he  felt  ashamed  to  own  it,  but  it  was  true,  that 
his  desire  for  immersion  arose  very  much  from 
pride  and  vanity,  and  a  desire  to  be  popular.  If 
he  should  be  immersed,  he  would  be  unlike  others ; 
and  he  was  then  pleased  with  the  idea,  that  peo- 

21* 


246  A     STRANGE     SNARE. 

pie  would  talk  about  him  with  wonder,  and  think 
him  something  uncommon  in  penetration  and  in- 
dependence. But  he  hoped  he  had  repented  deeply 
and  sincerely  of  all  this  ;  and  now  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  immersed. 

He  united  with  the  church.  I  baptized  him, — 
but  not  by  immersion.  He  still  lives  a  reputable 
Christian,  after  twenty  years  of  trial. 


The  snares  of  the  devil  are  very  numerous. 
Perhaps  none  of  them  are  more  common  or  more 
dangerous,  than  those  which  are  addressed  to  pride 
and  vanity.  Young  persons  especially  are  exposed 
to  these.  When  they  begin  to  be  attentive  to  re- 
ligion or  entertain  hope  in  Christ ;  if  their  pride 
becomes  connected  with  religion  or  religious  things, 
they  are  greatly  exposed  to  take  the  gratification 
of  their  pride  for  the  comforts  of  piety.  A  passion 
for  popularity,  the  desire  to  be  noticed,  and  known, 
and  talked  about,  has  led  many  a  sinner  into 
strange  delusion.  Spiritual  pride  is  the  worst  of 
all  pride,  if  it  is  not  the  worst  snare  of  the  devil. 
The  heart  is  peculiarly  deceitful  j  ust  on  this  thing, 
pride 


FANATICISM. 


A  young  woman,  who  was  a  member  of  my 
church,  came  to  me  with  the  urgent  request,  that 
I  would  visit  her  sister,  who  was  in  a  very  anxious 
state  of  mind,  and  would  be  glad  to  see  me. 
Learning  that  her  sister  had  been  a  communicant 
in  another  denomination,  and  very  seldom  attended 
our  church  ;  I  declined  going,  as  I  was  unwilling 
even  to  appear  of  a  proselyting  spirit.  But  she 
was  so  urgent,  that  I  finally  consented. 

She  lived  in  a  neighborhood  some  miles  distant, 
where  most  of  the  people  belonged  to  another  de- 
nomination. I  immediately  rode  to  her  house. 
She  entered  the  room  where  I  was,  and  her  sister, 
after  introducing  her  to  me,  left  us  alone,  that  she 
might  speak  freely  to  me.  I  perceived  she  was 
very  much  agitated,  trembling  and  sighing.  I  said 
to  her : — "  You  seem  to  be  very  much  troubled. 
"What  is  it  that  distresses  you  ?" 

Says  she,  "  I  have  been  converted  three  times, 
and  I  feel  as  if  I  needed  it  again  !" 


248 


FANATICISM. 


"  Take  care,"  said  I,  ';  that  you  do  not  get  con- 
verted again  in  the  same  way.  All  that  has  done 
you  no  good.     Has  it  ?" 

"  No,"  says  she  ;  "  not  at  all !" 

"  Then,  do  not  get  converted  so,  again.  You 
want  a  religion  that  shall  last, — a  religion  to  die 
with ;  and  I  advise  you  to  get  an  entirely  new 
kind." 

I  conversed  with  her  for  some  time,  aiming  to 
teach  her  the  nature  of  religion,  and  to  quell  the 
excitement  of  her  mind,  which  appeared  to  me 
to  arise  more  from  an  agitation  of  her  sensi- 
bilities, than  from  real  conviction  of  sin.  Her 
affections,  more  than  her  understanding  and  con- 
science, were  excited.  I  visited  her  afterwards ; 
and  for  some  time  her  impressions  appeared  to  me 
to  become  more  scriptural  and  deep,  and  to  prom- 
ise a  good  result.  But  she  was  drawn  away 
again  among  her  old  associates,  at  an  exciting  as- 
semblage in  the  evening,  where  she  professed  to 
have  become  converted  again.  She  was  as  joyful 
and  happy  as  she  had  been  before,  and  her  reli- 
gion lasted  this  time  about  six  months. 

The  heart  that  has  once  been  drunk  with  fanat- 
icism, is  ever  afterwards  exposed  to  the  same 
evil.  It  will  mistake  excitement — any  fancy,  for 
true  religion.     Fanaticism  is  not  faith. 

When  the  affections,  or  mere  sensibilities  of  the 
heart  are  excited,  and  the  understanding  and  con- 


FANATICISM.  249 

science  are  but  little  employed,  there  is  a  sad  pre- 
paration for  false  hope — for  some  wild  delusion,  or 
fanatical  faith.  The  judgment  and  conscience 
should  take  the  lead  of  the  affections ;  but  when 
the  affections  take  the  lead,  they  will  be  very  apt 
to  monopolize  the  whole  soul,  judgment  and  con- 
science will  be  overpowered,  or  flung  into  the  back- 
ground ;  and  then,  the  deluded  mortal  will  have  a 
religion  of  mere  impressions — more  feeling  than 
truth — more  sensitiveness  than  faith — more  fancy 
and  fanaticism,  than  holiness.  Emotions,  agita- 
tions, or  sensibilities  of  any  sort,  which  do  not 
arise  from  clear  and  conscientious  perception  of 
truth,  will  be  likely  to  be  pernicious.  The  most 
clear  perception  of  truth,  the  deepest  conviction,  is 
seldom  accompanied  by  any  great  excitement  of  the 
sensibilities.  Under  such  conviction,  feeling  may 
be  deep  and  strong,  but  will  not  be  fitful,  capri- 
cious and  blind.  To  a  religion  of  mere  impressions, 
one  may  be  "  converted  three  times,"  or  three 
times  three ;  to  a  religion  of  truth,  one  conversion 
will  suffice.  In  my  opinion,  my  young  friend  was 
all  along  misled  by  the  idea,  that  religion  consisted 
very  much  in  a  wave  of  feeling.  Her  instructors 
ought  to  have  taught  her  better. 


A  MOTHER  S   PRAYER. 


As  I  was  very  much  engaged  at  one  time,  in 
calling  from  house  to  house,  among  the  people  of 
my  charge,  I  called  upon  a  young  woman  to  en- 
deavor to  direct  her  attention  to  the  subject  of  her 
salvation.  I  attempted  to  draw  her  into  conver- 
sation upon  religion,  but  did  not  succeed.  She 
would  converse  freely  about  anything  else  ;  but 
on  this  subject  she  was  very  mute,  only  deigning 
a  brief  answer  to  my  questions ;  and  sometimes, 
not  even  that.  I  knew  that  she  was  greatly  par- 
tial to  me, — a  very  warm  personal  friend ;  and  I 
wondered  at  her  obstinate  silence.  On  visiting 
her  again,  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  I  found  her 
in  the  same  state.  About  religion  she  was  wholly 
reserved.  As  days  passed  on,  I  made  many  at- 
tempts to  persuade  her  to  deny  herself,  and  follow 
Christ ;  but  my  attempts  were  all  in  vain.  Al- 
most the  whole  of  her  youthful  associates  had  be- 
come Christians,  as  they  hoped,  or  were  prayer- 


PRAYER.  251 

fully  seeking  the  Lord.  She  remained  almost 
alone  ;  and  I  became  very  solicitous  about  her.  I 
tried  with  all  my  power,  to  affect  her  mind :  I  ex- 
plained the  character  of  God,  the  law,  sin,  the 
work  of  Christ,  the  prospects  of  sinners.  I  show- 
ed the  vanity  of  the  world.  I  employed  the 
promises,  and  aimed  to  melt  her  heart.  Time  af 
ter  time,  with  the  Bible  in  my  hand,  I  directed 
her  own  eyes  to  the  passages,  and  got  her  to  read 
them  to  me.  I  marked  passages  and  desired  her 
to  read  them  alone,  carefully,  and  with  prayer. 
Polite,  amiable  and  kind  as  she  was,  she  appeared 
entirely  unmoved  by  all  that  I  could  say  to  her. 
I  understood  also,  if  anything  was  said  about  re- 
ligion in  the  family,  she  would  retire  to  her  room. 
She  would  leave  the  table  as  soon  as  she  could 
without  manifest  rudeness,  if  the  subject  of  re- 
ligion became  a  topic  of  conversation.  Her  mother 
told  me  she  would  not  hear  a  word  from  her  on 
that  subject,  when  they  were  alone ;  but  would 
leave  the  room,  if  she  spoke  of  it  at  all.  She 
had  also  abandoned  all  religious  meetings,  except  on' 
the  Sabbath ;  and  sometimes  she  was  absent  then. 

Finally,  one  day,  I  called  and  said  to  her  ; — "  I 
have  called  to  see  you  once  more,  in  order  to  speak 
to  you  again,  about  your  salvation." 

"  I  am  always  happy  to  see  you,"  said  she. 

"  And  are  you  willing  to  talk  with  me  on  the 
subject  of  your  own  religious  duty  ?" 


252  A     MOTHER'S     PRAYER. 

"  You  can  talk  to  me,  if  you  please." 

"  That  is  not  enough.  I  have  talked  to  you 
many  times,  and  you  are  silent.  You  force  me  to 
talk  in  the  dark ;  because  I  cannot  find  out  what 
you  think  or  feel.  You  will  not  even  answer  the 
questions  I  put  to  you.  And  it  seems  to  me,  that 
you  must  deem  me  intrusive,  impolite  and  unkind, 
to  be  so  often  speaking  to  you  on  a  subject,  which 
appears  unwelcome  to  you." 

"  Oh  no,"  says  she,   "  not  at  all." 

"  Then,  are  you  willing  to  talk  freely  with  me, 
as  you  do  on  all  other  subjects  ?" 

She  gave  me  no  answer.  I  told  her,  that  at 
present  I  had  no  time  for  any  other  than  religious 
conversation — that  when  I  had,  I  should  be  happy 
to  see  her ;  but  that  now,  there  were  many  persons 
wishing  to  see  me,  and  willing  to  converse  with 
me  freely,  about  the  way  of  salvation  ;  and  if  she 
did  not  wish  to  see  me  on  that  subject,  I  would  ex- 
cuse myself  from  calling  on  her  again.  She  made 
no  reply,  and  I  began  to  fear  she  was  going  to  cast 
me  off  entirely.     I  asked  her  : — 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  come  to  see  you  again  ?" 

She  appeared  to  be  affected,  but  gave  me  no 
answer. 

"  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  call  on  you  again." 

She  made  nc  reply.      Said  I : — 

"  My  dear  girl,  I  have  tried  to  do  you  good :  I 
wish  still  to  try :  I  have  loved  you  and  respected 


a   mother's    prayer.  253 

you  :  I  hope  you  will  not  cast  me  off,  in  this  way, 
I  ask  it  as  a  favor,  that  you  will  allow  me  to  call 
on  you  again,  and  aim  to  persuade  you  to  attend 
to  your  salvation." 

She  manifested  much  emotion,  but  remained  si- 
lent.    Said  I : — 

"It  is  for  you  to  say,  whether  I  shall  call  on 
you  again,  or  not.  I  will  not  force  myself  upon 
you." 

I  rose  to  depart;  and  offering  her  my  hand  as 
she  accompanied  me  to  the  door,  I  said  to  her : — 

"  May  I  come  to  see  you  once  more  ?  I  do  not 
like  to  be  cast  off  so,  by  one  that  I  love  so  much. 
What  do  you  say  ?  may  I  come  ?  I  ask  it  as  a 
favor." 

She  wept,  but  she  did  not  answer.  I  paused, 
and  repeated  the  question,  "  may  I  come  ?"  but 
she  made  me  no  reply,  and  I  bade  her  good-bye. 

The  next  day,  as  I  passed  the  house,  her 
mother  saw  me,  and  came  after  me  in  the  street, 
through  the  deep  snow,  and  begged  me  to  call  and 
see  her  daughter.  She  was  greatly  distressed 
about  her.  She  feared  nothing  would  induce  her 
to  seek  Grod.  I  told  her  how  she  had  refused  to 
give  me  permission  to  come  to  see  her  again,  even 
when  I  had  begged  it,  as  affectionately  as  I  could ; 
and  therefore,  I  could  do  no  more.  I  could  not  in- 
trude myself  upon  her.  It  would  do  no  good. 
And  unless  her  daughter  expressed  a  willingness 
22 


254 


at  least,  to  see  me  ;  I  never  should  trouble  her  any- 
more. The  mother  wept  like  a  child.  "  Oh," 
says  she ;  "  what  will  become  of  her!  She  re- 
fused to  hear  me  say  anything,  long  ago ;  and  now, 
you  are  going  to  give  her  up  !  "What  shall  I  do  ?" 
"  You  can  pray  for  her,"  said  I,  "  God  can  reach 
her  heart."  She  begged  me  not  to  forget  her  poor 
child,  and  turned  back  towards  her  home,  with 
tears  streaming  from  her  eyes,  one  of  the  most 
heart-broken  mothers,  I  have  ever  seen. 

The  next  Sabbath  evening,  that  girl  was  at  the 
inquiry  meeting.  She  was  entirely  overcome  by 
her  emotions.  She  bewailed  herself,  as  an  undone 
sinner.  She  said  she  had  resisted  Grod — she  had 
broken  her  mother's  heart — she  had  destroyed  her- 
self, and  feared  there  was  no  mercy  for  her. 

After  some  weeks  she  entertained  a  hope  in 
Christ ;  but  her  mind  soon  became  darkened  and 
bewildered  with  doubts  and  fears ;  and  for  some 
years,  she  never  made  a  public  profession  of  re- 
ligion. More  than  ten  years  after  she  came  to 
that  inquiry  meeting,  I  took  some  pains  to  visit 
her.  She  still  entertained  her  hope,  and  still  lived 
a  life  of  prayer. 

The  cause  of  her  yielding,  when  she  first  came 
to  the  inquiry  meeting  seems  to  have  been,  that 
she  was  let  alone.  Her  mother  had  ceased  to  say 
anything  to  her  about  her  salvation  ;  her  minister 
was  cast  off ;  her  companions  had  ceased  to  solicit 


255 

her  attention  to  her  religious  duties.  She  was  left 
to  herself.  Nothing  opposed  her.  And  she  found 
she  was  opposing  Grod. 


The  Holy  Spirit  leads  to  self-inspection.  Such 
inspection  is  just  the  operation  of  a  convicted  sin- 
ner's mind.  Sometimes,  if  he  is  just  left  to  take 
his  own  course,  nobody  to  oppose  him,  his  own 
conscience  will  be  the  more  apt  to  do  that  office. 
Aside  from  a  deep  sense  of  accountability,  there 
will  be  little  or  no  conviction. — But  it  was  prayer 
— a  mother's  prayer,  that  availed  for  her.  That 
mother  said  to  me  ; — "  I  went  to  my  room,  after  you 
told  me  you  could  do  no  more,  and  we  could  only 
pray  ;  and  I  prayed  as  I  nevqr  prayed  before.  I 
felt  that  Grod  only  could  help  me ;  and  if  he  did 
not  answer  me,  I  could  not  think  myself  a  Chris- 
tian any  longer." 

21* 


EASY  TO  BE  A  CHRISTIAN 


In  conversation  with  a  young  woman,  wl1/)  was 
awakened  to  a  sense  of  her  sin  and  danger,  I  was 
much  surprised,  at  the  perfect  clearness  of  her  per- 
ceptions. She  appeared  to  perceive  her  guilt  as  a 
sinner,  her  depravity  and  alienation  from  (rod,  her 
opposition  of  heart  to  his  law,  her  need  of  the 
blood  of  atonement  and  of  the  help  of  the  Holy 
Spirit.  I  could  make  none  of  these  truths  more 
plain  to  her,  or  more  forcible.  In  telling  me  how 
she  felt,  she  preached  more  powerfully  to  herself, 
than  I  could  preach  to  her.  I  was  afraid  to  say 
much  to  her,  lest  my  words  should  diminish  her 
impressions,  instead  of  giving  them  more  depth. 
But  I  insisted  upon  it,  that  Grod  was  willing  to 
save  her — that  her  bondage  in  sin  was  her  own 
fault,  not  his — that  she  was  unwilling  to  come  to 
Christ,  or  renounce  the  world,  or  give  up  sin,  or  be 
indebted  to  Christ  for  pardon,  or  set  her  whole 
heart  to  seek  Grod,  or  trust  her  heart  to  the  power 


EASY     TO     BE    A     CHRISTAIN.  257 

of  the  Divine  Spirit, — that  there  was  some  such 
hindrance  of  her  own — that  Grod  did  not  hinder 
her.  Still,  she  did  not  think  so.  She  said  she  had 
such  an  awful  fear  of  (rod's  wrath,  and  such  a  de- 
sire to  be  a  Christian ;  that  she  could  think  of 
nothing,  which  she  would  not  do,  in  order  to  be 
saved.  "  Yes,"  said  I,  "  you  would  do  everything 
but  one ; — that  is,  consent  to  do  nothing,  and  let 
Christ  save  you.  You  are  just  '  going  about  to  es- 
tablish a  righteousness  of  your  own,'  and  that  is 
the  great  reason  why  you  have  not  ■  submitted 
yourself  to  the  righteousness  of  (rod,  for  Christ  is 
the  end  of  the  law  for  righteousness  to  every  one 
that  believeth.' " 

I  left  her  abruptly,  not  giving  her  time  for  any 
reply. 

I  called  upon  her  the  next  day.  The  first  words 
she  uttered,  when  she  saw  me,  were ;  "  Oh,  how 
easy  it  is,  to  be  a  Christian !  You  have  only  to 
be  willing,  and  it  is  all  done.  How  easy,  how 
easy  it  is  !"  "  Yes,"  said  I ;  '  my  people  shall  be 
willing  in  the  day  of  my  power.' — "  Is  that  in  the 
Bible  ?"  says  she.  "  Yes  ;  the  hundred  and  tenth 
Psalm."  "I  wish  I  had  known  it  before,"  said 
she ;  "  then  I  should  have  known  where  to  go. 
But,  no  matter;  I  know  it  now.  I  found  that 
when  I  was  really  willing,  it  was  all  done.  And 
when  I  prayed,  God  made  me  willing.  It  was  he. 
It  was  all  he.  I  did  nothing,  I  know  I  did  noth- 
22* 


258  EASY     TO     BE     A     CHRIS  TAIN. 

ing,  but  come  to  him  humbly.  He  gives  me 
peace,  as  I  trust  in  Jesus  alone.  It  is  easy  to  be 
a  Christian,  when  you  are  willing." 


Self-denial  is  indispensable  to  religion.  "  If  any 
man  will  be  my  disciple,  let  him  deny  himself." 
And  whatever  difficulties  there  may  be,  (and 
there  are  certainly  many,)  in  turning  to  Grod,  it 
would  be  no  easy  thing  to  show,  that  any  one  of 
them  does  not  lie  very  much  in  the  will.  A  per- 
verse will  is  the  sin,  and  hindrance  of  unconverted 
sinners.  They  are  not  willing  to  be  converted 
sinners.     They  ought  to  kne  w  it. 


PROSELYTING. 


During  the  progress  of  a  revival  of  religion,  I 
emarked  the  absence  of  the  young  people  of  one 
family  from  our  meetings,  which  they  had  been 
accustomed  to  attend,  and  in  which  their  atten- 
tion had  been  turned  towards  religion.  They  had 
become  serious  inquirers  about  the  way  of  salva- 
tion. I  had  conversed  with  them.  Their  solem- 
nity appeared  to  be  growing  more  deep ;  and  I  was 
surprised  at  their  absence.  I  soon  found  they 
had  been  very  urgently  requested  to  attend  sim- 
ilar religious  meetings  of  another  church,  and  had 
yielded  to  the  solicitation.  They  preferred  to  at- 
tend there.  The  young  minister  of  that  church 
was  particularly  attentive  to  them,  visiting  them 
almost  daily,  and  sometimes  more,  and  taking 
special  pains  to  induce  them  to  attend  all  his  re- 
ligious exercises.  He  would  invite  them,  and 
urge  them,  and  sometimes  send  for  them.  One 
of  their  parents  told  me,  "how  very  muoh  inter- 


260  PROSELYTING. 

ested"  they  were  in  Mr.  B ,  and  expressed  trie 

opinion,  they  "  ought  to  go  to  church  where  they 

feel  the  most  interest.     And  then,  Mr.  B is  so 

attentive  ;  they  love  him  dearly ;  the  girls  think 
there  never  was  such  a  minister ;  they  can  talk 

about   nothing  else   but  Mr.    B ."     I  replied, 

that  I  should  rather  hear  they  were  "  interested" 
about  Christ  than  about  him  ;  and  enquired  how 
they  appeared  to  be  affected  on  the  subject  of  sal- 
vation.    The  reply  was,  "  Mr.  B thinks  they 

are  getting  along  very  well ;  and  they  seem  so 
happy  when  they  come  from  his  meetings."  I 
asked  whether  they  believed,  that  God  had  given 
them  a  new  heart,  and  was  answered,  "  "No,  not 
yet ;  but  they  seem  very  much  engaged." 

It  was  manifest,  as  I  thought,  that  their  favor- 
ite,   Mr.   B ,   was   tickling   their  vanity    and 

pride  by  his  visits  and  other  attentions,  which 
were  encouraged  by  parental  influence.  Through 
the  medium  of  a  trust- worthy  friend  of  the  family 
I  aimed  to  have  some  influence  upon  them  ;  but 
it  was  all  in  vain.  These  three  young  persons 
were  sometimes  in  our  religious  meetings,  but  it 
was  manifest  that  they  were  dissatisfied  there ; 
and  we  thought  their  influence  upon  our  other 
young  people  tended,  more  to  levity  than  solem- 
nity, to  fanaticism  than  to  faith.  But  they  did  not 
annoy  us  long.  They  continued  their  preference 
for  Mr,  B ,  they  became  his  "  converts  ;"   and 


PROSELYTING.  261 

within  a  year  from  that  time,  they  had  thrown  off 
all  the  restraints  of  religion,  and  one  of  them  all 
restraints  of  parental  authority. 


An  interest  about  religion  may  be  very  different 
from  an  interest  in  it.  Men  talk  of  being  "  inter- 
ested," and  "  interesting  meetings."  This  is  all 
suspicious.  It  is  commonly  a  mark  of  either 
fanaticism  or  pride,  or  of  both.  True  religion  is 
solemn  and  humble.  And  if  it  is  happy,  it  is 
happy  in  truth,  in  G-od,  in  duty.  To  mislead 
souls  is  no  trifle.  The  kisses  of  an  enemy  are  de- 
ceitful. 


THE   OBSTINATE    GIRL. 


There  are  periods,  when  the  minds  of  unbeliev- 
ers are  more  than  ordinarily  ready  to  attend  to  the 
concerns  of  eternal  life.  It  is  an  important  duty 
to  improve  such  seasons.  Having  called,  one 
morning,  upon  several  young  people,  and  found 
their  feelings  tender  on  the  subject  of  religion,  I 
determined  to  keep  on  in  this  service.  I  therefore 
called  upon  a  young  woman,  who  attended  my 
church  ;  and  introducing,  as  gently  as  I  could,  the 
reason  which  brought  me  there,  I  found  that  her 
mind  was  fully  set,  against  any  personal  attention 
to  her  salvation.  I  reasoned  with  her,  as  well  as 
I  could,  explained  to  her  some  texts  of  scripture, 
and  affectionately  besought  her,  to  give  immediate 
attention  to  the  great  concerns  of  a  future  life. 

She  replied  to  it  all  in  a  very  opposing  and  inso- 
lent manner,  which  I  did  not  resent  in  the  least. 
The  more  impudent  she  became,  the  more  polite 
and  gentle  I  became  ;  thinking  in  this  way  to  win 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL.  263 

her,  or  at  least,  that  she  would  become  ashamed 
of  her  want  of  politeness.  But  it  turned  out  very 
differently.  My  gentleness  seemed  to  provoke 
her  to  increased  insolence.  She  found  fault  with 
Christians  ;  called  them  hypocrites  ;  spoke  of  min- 
isters, as  bigoted,  and  domineering,  and  proud ; 
and  "  wondered  why  people  could  not  mind  their 
own  business."  She  became  personally  abusive  to 
myself;  and  in  her  abuse,  I  believe  she  made  some 
capital  hits,  as  she  drew  my  character.  I  bore  it 
all,  with  perfect  gentleness  and  good  nature  ;  but- 
tried  politely  and  gently,  to  persuade  her  to  try  to 
be  saved  herself,  let  what  would  become  of  the 
rest  of  us.  Whenever  I  got  an  opportunity,  (for 
she  was  very  talkative,)  I  answered  her  objections 
and  cavillings,  as  briefly  as  possible,  determined  to 
enlist  her  own  reason  against  her  disposition,  if  I 
could.  For  example  ;  she  said  to  me  with  a  bitter 
sneer  : — 

"  What  examples  your  church  members  set !" 

I  answered ;  "  I  want  you  to  be  a  Christian,  and 
set  us  a  good  example.  You  are  under  as  much 
obligation  to  set  me  a  good  example,  as  I  am  to  set 
you  one." 

"  I  have  a  right  to  my  own  way  ;"  says  she. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  other  people  must  have  a 
right  to  theirs.  But  surely,  you  do  not  mean  to 
say,  you  have  a  right  to  be  wrong.  A  wrong 
right  is  a  queer  thing." 


264 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL. 


"  Well,  I  am  sincere,  at  any  rate." 

"  So  was  Paul,  when  he  persecuted  the  church. 
He  was  very  sincerely  wrong,  and  afterwards  was 
very  sorry  for  it." 

"  I  am  accustomed  to  mind  my  own  busi- 
ness." 

"  I  thought  just  now  you  were  minding  mine, 
when  you  talked  so  freely  about  me,"  said  I ;  "  and 
as  to  minding  your  own,  let  me  tell  you,  your  first 
business  is,  to  seek  the  kingdom  of  Grod." 

"  I  abhor  cant  /" 

"  Those  were  the  words  of  Christ,  that  I  uttered 
I  should  be  sorry  to  have  you  call  them  cant." 

"  Oh,  you  are  mighty  cool !" 

"  Yes ;  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  be  angry  with 
you,  or  injure  you,  or  treat  you  impolitely.  I  have 
no  feelings  towards  you,  but  those  of  kindness  and 
good  will." 

"  You  have  got  all  the  young  people  running 
after  you  in  this  excitement,  which  you  call  a  re- 
vival of  religion.  In  my  opinion  there  is  not  much 
religion  about  it !  But  I'll  tell  some  of  them  bet- 
ter.    I'll  let  them  know  what  you  are !" 

"  You  may  know  me  better  yourself,  perhaps  ; 
before  you  have  done  with  me.  And  as  to  the 
young  people,  I  am  happy  to  know,  that  many  of 
them  are  trying  to  flee  from  the  wrath  to  come  ; 
and  if  we  are  mistaken  about  the  matter  of  re- 
ligion in  this  revival,  I  hope  you  will  become  truly 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL.  265 

religious  yourself,  and  thus  give  us  an  example 
and  be  prepared  to  tell  us  our  error." 

In  this  mode,  I  aimed  to  soften  her  asperities. 
But  for  the  most  part,  she  took  the  lead  in  the 
conversation,  and  kept  on,  with  a  more  abusive 
talk,  than  I  ever  received  before. 

I  took  my  leave  of  her,  saying  I  would  do  my- 
self the  pleasure  of  calling  again  soon.  She  re- 
plied, with  a  triumphant  air,  and  with  an  accent 
of  bitter  irony  : — "  I  should  be  very  happy  to  see 
you,  very  indeed  /" 

After  I  left  her,  I  thought  over  the  interview, 
and  studied  her  character,  with  all  the  carefulness 
and  penetration  I  could  muster.  I  knew  that 
sometimes  convicted  sinners  would  become  oppos- 
ers,  just  because  they  were  convicted, — being  led 
to  vent  upon  other  people  the  dissatisfaction  they 
feel  with  themselves.  And  in  such  cases  I  have 
always  thought  it  best  to  treat  them  with  kind- 
ness, and  aim  to  overcome  their  opposition  by 
good  will,  and  by  letting  them  find  nothing  to  op- 
pose. But  I  did  not  think  this  was  her  case.  Sho 
had  manifested  no  dissatisfaction  with  herself ; 
and  though  she  was  "  exceeding  fierce,"  I  did  not 
believe  she  resembled  those  whom  the  devils  tore, 
before  they  came  out  of  them. 

This  young  woman  was  very  rich,  having  a 
large  property  of  her  own,  which  she  used  as  she 
pleased.     She  lived  in  the  midst  of  elegance  ;  and 

28 


26€  THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL 

several  of  the  expressions  which  she  used  while 
talking  to  me,  appeared  to  me  to  indicate  that 
she  was  proud  of  her  affluence,  presumed  upon  it 
to  give  her  respectability,  and  was  fully  resolved 
to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  the  world.  The  costli- 
ness and  elegance  of  her  dress  rather  sustained 
this  idea  ;  which  was  still  farther  impressed  upon 
my  mind,  by  my  knowledge  of  the  kind  of  ac- 
complishments she  had  aimed  after,  while  pursu- 
ing her  education. 

On  the  whole,  I  came  to  a  fixed  conclusion  as 
to  the  manner  in  which  I  should  treat  her,  if  she 
ever  ventured  to  talk  to  me  in  the  same  manner 
again.  Evidently  she  felt,  that  she  had  triumph- 
ed over  me,  and  was  proud  of  her  triumph.  Lit- 
tle as  such  a  triumph  might  be,  I  was  afraid  the 
pride  of  it  would  still  farther  harden  her ;  and 
thus  I  should  have  done  her  an  injury.  Her 
mother  was  a  member  of  my  church.  I  had  al- 
ways treated  her  and  her  daughter  politely ;  and  I 
knew,  or  thought  I  knew,  that  the  young  lady 
supposed  herself  able  to  over-awe  me.  And  if  1 
should  allow  her  to  go  on  in  this  way,  and  to  feel 
that  she  triumphed,  she  would  probably  become 
the  more  haughty,  and  hardened,  and  worldly. 
However,  I  rather  supposed,  that  on  reflection  she 
would  be  sorry  for  what  she  had  said,  and  be 
careful  not  to  repeat  it  again.  I  very  much  hoped 
that  she  would.     But   if  she   should   commence 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL.  267 

such  a  course  again,  my  duty  was  plain,  and  I  re- 
solved to  aim  to  discharge  it. 

Accordingly  I  called  upon  her  the  very  next 
day,  and  stated  to  her  my  desire  to  have  some 
conversation  with  her,  if  agreeable  to  her,  very 
frankly  and  kindly,  on  the  subject  of  her  duty  to 
Grod,  and  to  her  own  soul.  I  found  her  in  much 
the  same  mood  as  before.  She  soon  commenced 
her  abusive  style  of  remark  about  professors  of 
religion,'  and  ministers,  and  revivals.  I  allowed 
her  to  go  on  in  her  own  way,  without  saying 
much  myself,  for  about  half  an  hour.  I  only 
aimed  to  pacify  her  opposition  by  mildness,  and 
lead  her  to  speak  more  reasonably,  and  feel  more 
justly.  She  seemed  to  take  courage  from  my  for- 
bearance, to  be  the  more  bitter  and  abusive. 
"When  I  thought  the  fit  time  had  come,  I  request- 
ed her  to  pause  a  little,  and  just  hear  what  I  had 
to  say  to  her. 

I  then  talked  to  her  as  severely  as  I  was  able. 
I  told  her  there  was  not  much  truth,  and  not  an 
item  of  sincerity  in  all  she  had  been  saying, — that 
I  knew  it,  and  she  knew  it  herself, — that  she 
knew  she  had  been  saying  things  which  were  not 
true,  and  affirming  opinions  which  she  did  not  en- 
tertain,— that  she  was  just  wickedly  acting  out 
the  deep-seated  and  indulged  wickedness  of  her 
heart  against  God, — a  wickedness  which  I  was 
surprised  to  find,  had  led  a  lady  of  her  sense  and 


268  THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL. 

accomplishments  to  forget  the  dignity  of  her  sex, 
and  descend  to  mean  and  low  abuse,  of  which  she 
ought  to  be  ashamed,  and  would  be  ashamed,  if 
she  had  any  delicacy  left, — that  I  had  entered 
her  house  in  a  gentlemanly  manner,  with  respect- 
ful and  kind  feelings  towards  her,  and  had  treated 
her  politely  and  kindly  in  every  word  and  action, 
both  yesterday  and  to-day  ;  while  she  had  dis- 
graced herself  and  her  family  by  her  abuse  and 
coarseness,  which  were  unworthy  of  any  one  who 
pretended  to  the  least  respectability, — that,  on  my 
own  account,  I  did  not  care  one  atom  what  she 
thought  of  me,  or  said  to  me,  for  she  was  entirely 
incapable  of  hurting  my  feelings  ;  but  that  I  felt 
exceedingly  sorry  for  her,  to  find  her  acting  like  a 
poor,  wicked  fool,  "  foaming  out  her  own  shame," 
and  boasting  of  her  sincerity,  when  there  was  not 
an  item  of  sincerity  about  her, — that,  as  for  her 
influencing  other  young  people  against  me,  and 
turning  their  hearts  away  from  religion,  as  she 
had  yesterday  threatened  to  do,  I  would  take  care 
to  see  to  that.  She  might  do  her  worst,  I  would 
caution  them  against  her  ;  and  any  slanders  she 
might  utter  against  me  would  only  exalt  me  in 
the  opinion  of  any  one,  whose  opinion  I  cared  any- 
thing about, — that  she  might  indulge  her  wicked- 
ness, and  rail  against  Christians  and  Christian 
ministers  as  long  as  she  pleased  ;  I  never  would 
attempt  to  stop  her  again,  for   if  this  was  to  be 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL.  269 

her  course,  I  was  now  in  her  house  for  the  last 
time, — that  I  was  sorry  to  speak  thus  to  her, — I 
had  never  done  it  before  to  any  person  in  my  life, 
and  never  expected  to  have  occasion  to  do  it 
again ;  but  I  felt  it  to  be  my  duty  now, — a  duty 
which  1  owed  to  her  own  soul,  for  I  had  never,  in 
all  my  experience,  witnessed  such  hardened  and 
silly  wickedness  as  I  had  seen  in  her,  for  which 
she  would  soon  have  to  give  an  account  unto  (rod, 
— that  if  she  had  known  no  better,  I  could  have 
had  some  respect  for  her ;  but  she  did  know  bet- 
ter, she  spake  what  she  knew  was  not  so,  just 
indulging  the  enmity  of  her  heart  against  Grod, — 
that  her  pride  would  soon  be  brought  low,  and  if 
she  did  not  repent  and  flee  to  Christ,  the  time  was 
not  far  distant  when  (rod  would  leave  her  to  her 
own  way,  and  at  last  she  would  have  her  just 
portion  "  in  shame  and  everlasting  contempt  ?" 

As  I  went  on  to  speak  in  this  strain,  she  at  first 
appeared  to  be  taken  by  surprise,  to  be  utterly  con- 
founded, as  if  she  could  not  believe  her  own  ears. 
But  in  a  little  time,  her  eyes  were  cast  down  to 
the  floor ;  she  buried  her  face  in  her  handkerchief, 
and  wept  and  sobbed  as  a  child. 

I  did  not  heed  this  at  all.  I  only  continued  to 
speak  in  the  same  manner,  till  I  had  finished  all  I 
had  to  say.  I  then  told  her,  that  I  had  done  all 
my  duty  to  her,  and  was  now  going  to  leave  her 
forever.     I  had  only  to  say,  that  so   far  as  I  was 

23* 


270  THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL. 

myself  concerned  in  her  vituperation,  I  freely  for- 
gave it  all,  and  hoped  (rod  would  forgive  it ;  b  ut 
that  I  very  well  knew,  it  all  proceeded  from  her 
enmity  against  God,  which  he  only  could  forgive  ; 
and  I  besought  her  to  seek  his  forgiveness,  before 
it  was  too  late. 

While  uttering  this  severe  rebuke,  I  had  stood 
with  my  hat  in  my  hand,  ready  to  depart ;  and 
when  I  had  finished,  I  bade  her  good  morning,  and 
turned  towards  the  door.  She  sprang  from  her 
seat,  and  reaching  out  both  her  hands  to  me,  she 
begged  me,  with  tears  coursing  down  her  cheeks, 
not  to  leave  her  so.  She  began  to  entreat  my  for- 
giveness. I  stopped  her  instantly.  "I  will  not  al- 
low you  to  beg  my  pardon.  You  have  not  offend- 
ed me  at  all.  If  I  have  said  anything  wrong,  I 
will  beg  your  pardon."  "  No,  no  !"  said  she,  while 
she  clung  to  my  hands  in  great  agitation,  sobbing 
aloud.  Said  I,  "  I  must  go  ;  if  you  have  nothing 
to  say  to  me."  Said  she  ;  "  I  hope  you  will  con- 
sent to  stay  a  little  longer.  Don't  leave  me,  don't 
leave  me.     I  beg  of  you  to  stay." 

I  did  not  intend  to  stay.  But  she  appeared  so 
overwhelmed,  and  I  had  really  talked  to  her  so  se- 
verely, that  I  began  to  relent.  I  could  not  bear  to 
add  another  burden  to  her  heart. 

We  sat  down,  and  she  immediately  thanked  me 
for  my  plainness  with  her,  and  confessed  she  de- 
served it  all.    She  continued  to  weep  most  piteously 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL,  27 1 

and  with  an  imploring  look  she  asked  me  ;  "  what 
shall  such  a  poor,  wicked  creature  do  ?" 

I  was  entirely  overcome.  I  wept  with  her.  I 
could  not  avoid  it.  But  I  could  not  now  converse 
with  her.     After  several  attempts  I  said  to  her : 

"  I  cannot  talk  with  you  now.  If  you  wish  it,  I 
will  come  to  see  you,  when  I  am  less  agitated." 

"  Will  you  come  this  afternoon  ?"  said  she. 

"Yes,  I  will,  if  you  desire  it." 

"I  do  desire  it.  Now  be  sure  to  come.  Don't 
forget  me.  Come  immediately  after  dinner,  or  as 
soon  as  you  can.     I  have  much  to  say  to  you." 

I  left  her.  When  I  returned,  in  the  afternoon, 
she  met  me  at  the  door,  bathed  in  tears.  She 
gave  me  her  hand  affectionately,  but  in  silence. 
She  could  not  speak.  Her  proud  spirit  seemed 
crushed.  She  was  all  gentleness.  As  soon  as  she 
could  subdue  her  agitation,  she  expressed  her  joy 
at  seeing  me.  She  had  been  watching  for  me,  and 
should  have  gone  after  me,  in  a  few  moments,  if  I 
had  not  come.  She  thanked  me  again  and  again, 
for  what  I  had  said  to  her.  She  told  me,  that 
when  I  began  to  talk  to  her  so  plainly  in  the 
morning,  she  was  surprised,  she  did  not  expect 
such  an  address.  "But  as  you  went  on,"  said 
she  ;  "I  was  confounded.  I  knew  what  you  said 
was  true  ;  but  I  was  amazed  that  you  should  know 
my  heart  so  well.  I  thought  you  knew  it  better, 
than  I  did ;  and  before  you  had  done,  if  you  had 


272  THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL. 

told  me  anything'  about  myself,  I  should  have  be- 
lieved it  all.  It  seemed  to  me,  that  you  just  lifted 
the  covering  from  my  heart.  I  felt  myself  in  a 
new  world.  And  it  does  now  seem  to  me,  that  I 
am  the  wickedest  sinner,  that  ever  was.  Will 
God  have  mercy  upon  me  ?  What  shall  I  do  ? 
What  can  I  do  ?" 

I  saw  her  many  times  after  this  ;  and  all  our  in- 
tercourse was  most  kind  and  pleasant.  She  sought 
the  Lord  and  found  him.  In  a  few  months  she 
united  with  the  church.  I  knew  her  for  years 
afterwards,  a  lovely  and  consistent  Christian,  and 
one  of  my  own  most  precious  friends. 


This  is  the  only  instance?  save  one,  in  which  I 
have  ever  ventured  upon  such  a  course  of  severity. 
I  do  not  know  as  I  should  do  it  again.  I  thought 
it  wise  at  the  time,  and  the  result  pleased  me  ex- 
ceedingly. After  she  became  a  member  of  the 
church,  and  an  intimate  friend,  I  conversed  with 
her  on  the  subject  of  my  treatment  of  her  at  the 
time,  when  she  said,  I  "uncovered  her  heart ;"  and 
she  expressed  her  opinion,  that  nothing,  but  such 
treatment,  could  have  arrested  her  in  her  career. 
She  said,  that  while  I  was  talking  to  her,  at  first 
she  perfectly  hated  me ;  but  before   I   closed  she 


THE     OBSTINATE     GIRL.  273 

perfectly  despised   herself,   and   feared   that    Grod 
would  have  no  mercy  upon  her. 

There  can  be  no  question  but  the  power  of  the 
gospel  lies  in  its  kindness  and  love,  and  that 
through  such  affections,  rather  than  the  opposite 
ones,  souls  are  to  be  wooed  and  won  to  Christ. 
But  kindness  and  love  can  censure  as  well  as 
smile.  There  are  circumstances  in  which  censure 
is  demanded,  and  duty  cannot  be  discharged  with- 
out it.  And  yet,  to  censure  and  reprove  are  things 
so  uncongenial  to  the  love-spirit  of  the  gospel,  and 
are  apt  to  be  so  congenial  to  some  of  the  worst 
feelings  of  human  nature,  that  few  duties  are  so 
difficult.  None  but  a  truly  affectionate  believer 
can  wisely  trust  himself  to  utter  words  of  severity 
to  those  who  oppose  religion.  St.  Paul  had  tears, 
but  no  taunts,  for  the  enemies  of  Christ. 

18 


CONVICTION   RESISTED, 


At  the  request  of  a  neighboring  minister,  I  went 
to  preach  for  him,  a  day  or  two,  in  a  time  of  revi- 
val among  his  people.  Some  of  those,  who  were 
concerned  about  their  salvation,  came  to  me  for 
the  purpose  of  personal  conversation,  after  the  close 
of  {he  first  meeting  I  attended.  The  number  of 
these  continued  to  increase.  But  my  ministerial 
friend  seemed  very  sad.  He  would  put  all  the 
services  upon  me :  I  could  scarcely  induce  him 
even  to  offer  a  prayer,  in  public  or  in  the  family. 
On  the  second  day  that  I  was  there,  he  came  into 
the  room  I  occupied,  locked  the  door,  and  with 
much. agitation  told  me  the  cause  of  his  distress. 
He  said  he  was  afflicted  beyond  measure,  his  soul 
was  cast  down  to  the  ground.  He  had  a  daughter 
about  eighteen  years  of  age,  whose  mind  had  been 
serious  for  months  ;  and  whose  determination,  to 
gain  an  interest  in" the  great  salvation,  appeared  to 
become  more  and  more  fixed ;  till  about  two  weeks 


CONVICTION     RESISTED.  275 

before,  when  her  seriousness  appeared  to  diminish ; 
and  now  she  seemed  resolved  to  resist  all  divine 
truth  and  divine  influences.  She  would  not  con- 
verse with  him  any  longer  ;  and  if  any  one  said 
anything  to  her  about  her  attending  any  religious 
service,  she  would  contrive  to  stay  away.  He  had 
come  to  the  conclusion,  to  say  no  more  to  her  \  and 
he  desired  me  not  to  mention  the  subject  of  reli- 
gion to  her  personally,  lest  her  heart  should  be  set 
against  it  still  more. 

I  carefully  inquired  what  had  taken  place,  to 
change  the  current  of  her  feelings  so  much ;  but 
he  could  give  me  no  information,  or  even  con- 
jecture. He  had  tried  in  vain  to  ascertain.  I 
told  him,  I  thought  he  might  safely  leave  it  to  me, 
whether  I  should  speak  to  her  or  not.  I  felt  in- 
clined to  do  so.  He  objected  to  it,  but  finally  left 
it  to  me;  "  for,"  says  he,  "she  will  give  you  no 
answer,  if  you  try  to  talk  with  her." 

I  met  her,  once  or  twice,  for  a  moment,  in  the 
course  of  the  forenoon,  as  we  casually  came  to- 
gether in  the  hall  or  parlor.  She  did  not  go  to 
church.  After  dinner,  I  seized  an  opportunity  in 
the  parlor  to  talk  with  her ;  but  I  said  nothing 
about  religion.  Afterwards  I  saw  her  in  the  gar- 
den, and  joined  her  in  a  walk  there.  But  while  I 
aimed  to  become  acquainted  with  her,  and  aimed 
to  please  her,  I  said  nothing  about  religion.  She 
stayed  away  from  religious   worship  in  the  after- 


276  CONVICTION     RESISTED. 

noon.  She  did  not  appear  to  avoid  me  any  longer. 
After  tea,  she  came  into  the  parlor,  where  I  was 
sitting  alone  ;  and  we  had  a  very  pleasant  inter- 
view for  half  an  hour.  Not  a  word  was  said  on 
the  subject  of  religion ;  only  she  told  me,  she  be- 
lieved she  "  would  go  to  church  in  the  evening." 

"  Well  now,"  said  I,  "you  can  do  me  a  favor. 
It  is  difficult  for  me  to  know  what  sermons  to 
preach,  away  from  home.  I  will  bring  down  my 
bundle,  and  get  you  to  look  at  the  texts  and  the 
titles,  and  tell  me  which  one  to  preach. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  I  went  for 
them.  When  I  returned,  I  put  them  into  her 
hands  familiarly,  and  asked  her  to  choose.  She 
looked  a  little  confused  ;  but  I  went  on  talking 
familiarly  about  the  sermons,  and  finally  asked 
which  she  would  have.  After  some  little  urgency 
necessary  to  my  purpose,  because  she  modestly 
declined  making  any  selection,  she  handed  me 
one,  saying,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  that  one" 

"Oh!"  said  I,  "I  beg  your  pardon  for  giving 
you  that.  I  preached  that  this  afternoon.  How- 
ever, it  is  all  the  better ;  for  if  you  wish  to  hear 
it,  perhaps  you  will  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  read- 
ing it  to  you,  at  home." 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  she,  with  a 
smile,  "  but  I  cannot  trouble  you  to  do  that  for 
me." 

"Ah,"  said  I,  "  that  is  your  polite  way  of  get 


CONVICTION     RESISTED.  277 

ting  rid  of  listening  to  a  dull  composition.  But 
you  are  right :  I  will  not  bore  you  with  it." 
1 ;  Indeed  I  should  not  consider  it  a  bore" 
"  You  are  a  very  rash  girl  to  say  that,  before 
you  have  tried  it, — '  Let  not  him  that  putteth  on 
the  harness  boast  himself,  as  he  that  putteth  it 
off.' — But  see  here, — you  and  I  must  be  a  good 
deal  alike.  The  very  sermon  I  chose  for  the  af- 
ternoon, you  chose  for  the  evening.  You  are  only 
half  a  day  behind  me.  You  must  try  to  catch 
up.  I  know  we  can  walk  together,  and  not  quar- 
rel,— we  think  so  much  alike. — But  choose  me 
another — any  one  you  select  I  will  preach." 

Said  she,  •"  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a  foolish 
selection." 

"  Well,  now !    that  is  a  pretty  compliment  to 
my  sermons  ! — 'a  foolish  selection  !'  " 
She  laughed  at  this,  but  answered : — 
"  I  did  not  mean  the  sermon  would  be  foolish." 
"  Well,  foolish  or  not,  I  must  preach  some  one 
of  them  ;  so,  please  to  tell  me  which." 

She  chose  one.  And  I  apologized  for  being  so 
impolite  as  to  leave  her  alone,  by  telling  her  that 
T  must  read  it  over  before  going  to  the  pulpit. 

By  this  time  we  had  become  quite  familiar. 
Her  reserve  had  worn  off,  and  she  appeared  to  feel 
at  ease  in  my  presence.  It  seemed  to  me,  that  it 
was  about  time  to  name  the  subject  of  religion  to 
her;  but  on  the  whole,  I  concluded  to  wait  an- 


:M  ..■:  -    . . , 


278  CONVICTION     RESISTED. 

other  day,  and  see  if  she  would  not  herself  com- 
mence conversation  on  that  subject,  which  I 
should  much  prefer. 

She  attended  church  in  the  evening,  appeared 
just  as  usual,  and  the  next  day,  morning  and  af- 
ternoon, she  attended  and  heard  my  sermons.  I 
kept  up  my  acquaintance  with  her  at  home,  got 
her  to  select  sermons  for  me,  and  tell  why  she 
selected  the  particular  ones  she  chose,  and  de- 
bated the  matter  with  her,  whether  she  had  hit 
on  the  right  ones,  for  the  object  she  had  in  view. 
This  was  the  mode  by  which  I  first  got  a  glimpse 
of  the  state  of  her  mind.  I  became  much  in- 
terested in  her.  Her  quickness  of  mind,  her  taste 
and  refinement,  her  fine  education  and  her  ami- 
ability, together  with  an  air  of  pensiveness,  which 
hung  around  her,  and  seemed  to  creep  over  her 
unbidden,  made  me  feel  attached  to  her  as  a 
friend,  and  ready  to  sympathize  in  all  she  felt. 

As  she  started  to  go  to  church,  in  the  evening, 
I  motioned  her  father  out  of  the  way,  and  gave 
her  my  arm.  She  seemed  surprised,  for  she  had 
evidently  intended  to  avoid  me.  We  had  about 
a  half  a  mile  to  walk  ;  and  as  she  had  started  be- 
fore the  fit  time,  there  was  full  liberty  for  us  to 
walk  very  leisurely. 

I  immediately  commenced  speaking  to  her  on 
the  things  of  the  gospel,  in  the  most  delicate  and 
affectionate  manner  that   I    could.     At  first  she 


CONVICTION     RESISTED.  279 

was  mute,  but  in  a  few  minutes  she  told  me 
frankly  all  about  her  feelings.  She  said,  that  she 
had  been  very  much  interested  about  her  salva- 
tion, but  her  interest  was  all  gone.  She  had 
ceased  to  pray.  She  had  become  disgusted  ;  and 
she  supposed  the  Holy  Spirit  had  left  her.  At  any 
rate,  she  felt  no  concern  now,  as  she  had  done  for 
many  weeks,  when  she  was  sensible  of  her  sin ; 
and  for  some  days,  she  had  not  allowed  any  one  to 
speak  to  her  on  the  subject. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  I,  "  you  did  not  wish  me  to 
mention  it.  If  you  are  unwilling  to  hear  me, 
just  say  so,  and  I  will  be  still.  But  I  have  be- 
come attached  to  you,  as  a  friend ;  you  have  in- 
terested me  very  much;  and  if  the  thing  is  al- 
lowable, I  should  like  to  ask  what  disgusted  you 
with  religion." 

"  I  would  rather  not  tell." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me.  I  give  you  my 
promise,  that  all  you  say  to  me  shall  be  sacredly 
confidential ;  and  I  assure  you  I  will  treat  you 
kindly,  and  ^ou  may  speak  to  me  anything  you 
think  or  feel/' 

"  I  was  very  anxious  for  a  while,  but  I  am  not 
now ;  and  you  would  think  me  foolish,  if  I  should 
tell  you  what  disgusted  me." 

"Not  at  all,"  said  I.  "I  shall  think  you  dis- 
like and  distrust  me,  if  you  don't  tell." 

"Well,"  said  she,  "it  was  what  a  young  man 


280  CONVICTION     RESISTED. 

said  to  me.  He  belongs  in  college.  He  was  here 
a  few  days,  attended  prayer  meetings,  and  some- 
times made  addresses,  as  he  is  going  to  be  a  min- 
ister ;  and  one  day,  when  he  asked  me  about  my 
feelings  and  I  told  him  ;  he  talked  to  me  very 
harshly,  because  I  had  not  come  to  repentance, 
and  said  that  his  prayers  for  me  would  sink  me 
deeper  in  hell." 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  that  ?" 

"  I  told  him,  I  hoped,  then,  he  would  not  pray 
for  me." 

"  That  was  right,"  said  I,  "  that  was  right.  I 
thank  you  for  saying  it.  You  taught  him  a  good 
lesson.  He  had  no  business  to  be  talking  to  you 
in  that  manner.  If  you  took  that  for  an  example 
of  religion,  it  is  no  wonder  that  you  were  disgust 
ed.     I  am  sure,  it  sounds  disgusting  to  meP 

"And  then,"  said  she,  "  after  I  told  him  that, 
he  became  still  worse  in  his  language.  He  told 
me  I  was  the  vilest  creature  on  earth — he  won- 
dered I  was  not  in  hell — and  I  should  be  there 
soon.  I  was  disgusted  and  angry,  when  he  said  a 
great  many  such  things  to  me.  I  would  not  at- 
tend the  prayer  meeting  afterwards,  where  he  was. 
I  thought,  if  that  was  the  way  and  feeling  of  re- 
ligion, I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it ;  and 
since  that,  I  have  thought  but  little  about  it." 

"  When  he  told  you,  that  you  would  soon  be  in 
hell,  what  did  you  say  to  him  ?" 


CONVICTION     RESISTED.  281 

"  I  said  it  was  well  for  me,  that  he  could  not 
send  me  there." 

"  Yery  well.  I  am  glad  you  said  it.  It  will  do 
him  good,  if  he  has  sense  enough  to  profit  by  it. 
You  have  done  rightly.  He  was  in  fault,  not  you. 
He  is   probably  a   proud,    silly,   impudent  young 


"J  think  so,"  said  she.  "  And  I  was  amazed 
to  hear  my  father  speak  so  very  highly  of  him, 
and  commend  his  faults,  as  I  thought  them." 

I  then  reasoned  with  her  on  the  impropriety  of 
her  being  influenced  at  all,  by  anything  that  such 
a  heartless  young  man  could  say  :  and  the  impro- 
priety of  judging  of  religion,  by  such  a  specimen 
of  irreligion :  for  surely,  his  talk  was  anything 
but  religion,  be  his  heart  what  it  might.  I  be- 
sought her  to  take  her  own  way,  the  way  of  her 
own  conscience  and  good  sense,  uninfluenced  by 
any  man  or  minister  on  earth.  I  told  her  to  think 
of  it,  how  she  was  manifestly  wrong,  in  being  in- 
fluenced as  she  had  been.  She  said  she  knew  it 
was  wrong.  I  then  besought  her  to  seek  the  Lord 
now,  as  she  very  well  knew  she  ought  to  do ;  and 
not  regard  what  /  said  or  anybody  else  said ;  but 
follow  her  own  reason,  look  to  Grod  and  he  would 
bless  her.  She  said  she  would  candidly  think  of 
it. 

By  this  time  we  had  reached  the  door  of  the 
church.     I  preached  the  sermon  she  had  selected. 

24* 


282  CONVICTION     R.    SI  ST  ED. 

Before  pronouncing  the  blessing,  I  came  down 
from  the  pulpit  to  the  desk  below,  and  invited  all 
those  who  had  no  hope  in  Christ,  and  were  willing 
to  begin  now  to  seek  God  prayerfully,  to  remain  in 
their  seats  after  the  blessing  was  pronounced,  for  I 
had  something  more  to  say  to  them.  I  made  an 
address  to  all  unconverted  persons,  on  the  duty  of 
seeking  God  now ;  and  besought  every  one  of 
them,  not  to  be  influenced  by  anything,  but  a 
sense  of  their  duty  to  Christ  and  their  own  souls. 
And  to  furnish  them  a  little  time  more  for  making 
up  their  mind  deliberately,  whether  they  would 
seek  the  Lord  or  not ;  I  proposed  to  sing  a  hymn 
which  I  would  read,  and  make  some  few  remarks, 
as  I  read  it.     I  then  read  the  hymn : — 

" '  Come,  humble  sinner,  in  whose  breast 
A  thousand  thoughts  revolve  ; 
Come,  with  your  guilt  and  fear  oppressed, 
And  make  this  last  resolve  : 

I'll  go  to  Jesus,  though  my  sin 

Has  like  a  mountain  rose, 
I  know  his  courts,  I'll  enter  in, 

Whatever  may  oppose.' 

"  '  Choose  ye  this  day  whom  ye  will  serve  ;  if 
the  Lord  be  God  follow  him  ;  if  Baal,  then  follow 
him.  Go  thee  one  way  or  the  other.  Now  is  the 
accepted  time  :  now  is  the  day  of  salvation. ' 

" '  Prostrate  I'll  lie  before  his  throne, 
And  there  my  guilt  confess  ; 


CONVICTION     RESIST  TD.  283 

Til  tell  him  I'm  a  wretch,  undone 
Without  his  pardoning  grace  !' 

u  i  The  Son  of  man  is  come  to  seek  and  to  save 
that  which  was  lost :' — lost  sinners  !  lost !  lost  to 
holiness !  lost  to  .Grod !  lost  to  happiness !  lost  to 
heaven  ! — lost ! — lost ! — lost ! 

" '  Perhaps,  he  will  admit  my  plea, 
Perhaps  will  hear  my  prayer, — ' 

"'Perhaps?' — There  is  no  'perhaps'  about  it. 
Grod  says  there  is  none !  '  Hear,  and  your  soul 
shall  live.  I  will  make  an  everlasting  covenant 
with  you,  even  the  sure  mercies  of  David.'  There 
is  no  '  perhaps'  in  the  matter.  Eternal  life  is  cer- 
tain, to  the  sinner  who  will  seek  Grod  with  all  his 
heart.  The  hymn  is  right.  It  represents  what  a 
sinner  feels,  when  he  is  just  resolving  to  go  to 
Christ.  But  let  him  fling  his  '  perhaps'  to  the 
winds  !  and  let  him  know,  that  Christ  will  accept 
him,  if  he  comes.  '  Come  ye  to  the  waters.  If 
any  man  will,  let  him  take  of  the  water  of  life 
freely.' — Still  he  does  not  feel  so.     Hear  him : — 

"  '  Perhaps,  he  will  admit  my  plea, 
Perhaps,  will  hear  my  prayer ; 
But  if  I  perish,  I  will  pray, 
And  perish  only  there.' 

"  And  if  you  perish  there,  you  will  perish  where 
a  sinner  never  did  yet !      You  will  be  the  first 


284  CONVICTION     RESISTED. 

that  ever  went  down  to  hell  from  the  foot  of  the 
cross  ! 

" '  I  can  but  perish' if  I  go, — ' 

"  '  Perish  ?  sooner  shall  heaven  and  earth  pass 
away  !  '  Perish  V  the  scepter  of  Immanuel  shall 
be  shivered  into  pieces — the  throne  of  the  Re- 
deemer Jehovah  shall  sink,  if  you  perish  there  ! 

"  *  I  can  but  perish  if  I  go, 
I  am  resolved  to  try  ; 
For  if  I  stay  away,  I  know 
I  must  forever  die !' 

"'Stay  away?' — forbid  it,  0  (rod  of  mercy! 
Draw  every  one  of  us  by  thy  love.  May  not  a  soul 
stay  away  to  night : — 

"  '  For  if  I  stay  away,  I  know 
I  must  forever  die !' 

As  I  read  this  hymn  and  made  these  remarks, 
an  awful  solemnity  seemed  to  rest  upon  the  con- 
gregation. All  was  still  as  the  house  of  death- 
There  was  not  a  sigh,  or  a  tear ! 

The  hymn  was  sung  ;  and  then  I  requested  all 
the  members  of  the  church  to  retire,  and  all  others, 
except  those  unconverted  sinners,  who  were  resolved 
to  begin  noiv,  if  they  had  not  already  begun,  to 
seek  the  Lord  earnestly  and  prayerfully.  Those 
who  would  thus  seek  God,  I  requested  to  remain 
in  their  seats. — I  pronounced  the  benediction. 


CONVICTION     RESISTED.  285 

.  My  young  friend,  who  was  in  the  pew  just  be- 
fore me,  remained  standing  still,  for  a  moment — 
then  made  towards  the  door — then  paused,  and 
sat  down — then  immediately  rose  again,  as  if  to 
mingle  with  those  who  were  leaving  the  church, 
opened  the  door  of  the  pew — then  paused — then 
stepped  out  into  the  aisle — and  finally  turned  back 
into  the  pew  and  sat  down,  bowing  her  head  upon 
the  pew  before  her,  evidently  in  deep  emotion. 
As  her  father,  who  stood  by  my  side,  noticed  this 
action  of  his  daughter,  he  burst  into  tears,  sunk 
down  into  his  seat,  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands. 

About  forty  persons  had  remained ;  almost  the 
whole  of  whom  became  members  of  the  church, 
before  the  close  of  the  summer.  I  made  a  short 
address  to  them,  offered  a  short  prayer,  and  dis- 
missed them. 

As  they  were  leaving  the  church,  I  perceived 
that  my  ministerial  brother  was  making  his  way 
towards  his  daughter,  as  if  to  speak  with  her,  his 
eyes  streaming  with  tears.  I  took  him  by  the  arm 
and  held  him  gently  back,  till  I  could  get  before 
him.  I  met  her  myself  at  the  door  of  the  chui  ch, 
offered  her  my  arm,  and  we  walked  home  in 
silence. 

I  conversed  with  her,  a  few  moments,  the  next 
morning  before  leaving  the  place,  and  never  saw 
her  afterwards. 


286  CONVICTION     RESISTED. 

Some  months  after  this,  her  father  told  me,  that 
a  week  after  I  left  there,  she  entertained  a  hope  in 
Christ,  had  since  united  with  the  church,  and  "  is 
now,"  said  he,  "  the  happiest  mortal  in  the  world." 


It  is  important  to  be  wise,  in  aiming  to  win  sin- 
ners to  Christ.  The  Bible  is  the  only  safe  guide. 
Its  spirit  is  love.  It  utters  no  denunciations 
against  any  who  are  disposed  to  treat  the  gospel 
offer  seriously.  To  lead  sinners  to  condemn  them- 
selves, is  one  thing ;  for  us  to  condemn  them,  is 
quite  another.  If  their  reason  and  conscience  do 
not  very  much  second  what  we  say  to  them,  our 
words  do  not  hit  their  case. 

The  snares  of  the  devil  are  very  deceitfully  con- 
trived. This  young  woman  was  right  to  dislike 
some  of  the  things  said  to  her ;  but  she  fell  into  a 
subtle  snare,  when  she  allowed  them  to  tarn  her 
mind  from  truth,  duty,  and  (rod.  How  strange, 
that  she  should  suffer  herself  to  be  influenced  so 
much,  by  the  very  man  whom  she  disapproved 
and  despised.     Such  is  human  nature. 

I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  that  this  young 
girl  was  of  a  most  affectionate  and  amiable  dispo- 
sition ;  and  therefore,  the  coarse  and  heartless  lan- 
guage of  that  young  man  was  the  more  revolting 


CONVICTION     RESISTED.  287 

to  her.  If  what  he  said  was  appropriate  to  her 
conscience,  it  was  not  appropriate  to  her  heart; 
and  if  the  matter  of  it  resembled  the  truth  of  the 
gospel,  the  spirit  and  manner  of  it  certainly  had  no 
resemblance  to  Christianity.  Religion  needs  no 
such  advocates. 

This  young  man  was  a  revivalist.  He  was 
fond  of  talking  and  praying  about  "  revivals,"  and 
"  revival  spirit,"  and  "  revival  measures."  We 
have  had  so  much  of  this  in  some  parts  of  the 
country,  that  many  Christians  have  been  led  into 
serious  errors  ;  and  while,  (like  this  young  man,) 
they  have  adopted  strange  modes  of  expression 
and  action,  they  have  thought,  and  felt,  and  even 
prayed,  just  as  if  sinners  could  not  be  converted 
except  in  revivals  ;  and  thus  the  irreligious  have 
been  led  to  think  it  vain  to  seek  (rod  at  any  other 
time.  An  officer  of  my  church  once  told  me  that 
he  himself  "  waited  for  a  revival  ten  years" 
because  he  "  had  been  led  by  the  way  in  which 
Christians  talked,  to  suppose  there  was  little 
reason  to  hope  for  a  blessing  at  any  other  time." 
By  such  notions  about  revivals  repentance  is  de- 
layed, prayer  discouraged,  the  Spirit  grieved,  souls 
ruined,  and  revivals  corrupted  !  The  church  and 
the  world  ought  to  know,  that  sinners  may  seek 
G-od  and  find  him  at  any  time,  as  easily  as  in  re- 
vivals. 


DETERMINATION. 


At  the  close  of  a  religious  service  held  in  the 
evening,  in  a  large  public  room,  I  requested  all 
those  who  were  not  members  of  the  church,  but 
were  disposed  to  attend  to  the  matter  of  their  sal- 
vation, to  remain  in  the  place,  after  the  benedic- 
tion was  pronounced,  and  give  me  an  opportunity 
to  converse  with  them.  I  did  this  for  the  sake  of 
convenience  ;  as  there  were  so  many  at  that  time, 
it  was  not  easy  for  me  to  call  upon  all  of  them  at 
their  homes  so  often  as  they  might  perhaps  desire 
to  speak  with  me.  And  besides,  it  was  quite  like- 
ly, that  some,  just  then,  while  the  truth  preached 
was  upon  their  minds,  and  its  impression  had  not 
worn  off  by  their  mingling  with  the  world,  might 
be  induced  to  begin  to  seek  Grod,  by  a  request  to 
take  their  stand  at  once.  This,  their  instant  duty, 
was  urged  upon  them  affectionately  and  earnestly. 
About  sixty  remained.  Though  it  was  impossible 
to  have  much  conversation  with  so  many,  yet  as 


DETERMINATION.  289 

there  were  some,  whom  I  did  not  know,  and  whose 
residences  I  wished  to  learn  for  the  purpose  of 
visiting  them,  I  passed  from  one  to  another,  speak- 
ing to  them  such  things  as  I  found  to  be  called 
for,  by  their  state  of  mind. 

"While  I  was  thus  employed,  and  the  assembly 
was  peculiarly  still  and  solemn,  we  were  startled 
by  the  heavy  and  rapid  tread  of  a  person  upon  the 
steps  leading  up  to  the  front  door  of  the  room. 
The  rude  footsteps  ascended  the  stairs,  sounded 
along  the  wooden  platform,  the  door  burst  open  as 
if  by  violence,  a  young  man  rushed  in  with  an  ex- 
cited, wild  look,  stamped  up  the  aisle  hastily,  and 
flung  himself  into  a  vacant  seat.  He  breathed 
heavily  ;  and  with  his  head  erect,  he  stared  wildly 
around,  with  such  a  look  of  iron  determination,  as 
I  never  saw.  Till  that  moment,  I  had  supposed, 
that  it  was  some  evil-minded  person,  who  had 
come  in,  to  disturb  us.  The  heavy  tread  upon  the 
stairs,  and  stamp  along  the  floor,  so  rude  and 
hasty,  contrasted  strangely  with  the  quiet  and  so- 
lemnity of  the  place  and  the  occasion.  But  as  the 
young  man  sat  still,  and  only  looked  wildly,  and 
breathed  strongly,  those  who  had  been  startled  at 
his  entrance  became  composed;  and  I  began  to 
think,  that  he  might  have  come  there  with  no 
wicked  or  unfriendly  intention.  I  kept  my  eye  on 
him,  as  he  sat  with  his  head  erect,  but  said  noth- 
ing to  him,  till  I  had  finished  what  I  had  to  say  to 

25 


290  DETERMINATION. 

all  the  rest.  Still  doubtful  of  his  intentions,  L 
went  to  him,  offered  him  my  hand,  (which  he 
seized  with  the  grasp  of  a  madman,)  and  seating 
myself  by  his  side,  inquired  whether  he  wished  to 
see  me.     Said  he  : — 

"  I  have  had  a  dreadful  struggle.  I  have 
known,  this  month,  that  I  ought  to  attend  to  my 
salvation.  I  went  home  from  this  place,  to-night, 
and  when  I  got  there,  I  could  not  go  in.  I  turned 
about  and  came  back  here,  and  when  I  got  to  the 
door,  I  could  not  come  in  here.  I  turned  about  to 
go  home,  but  it  was  hard  work.  I  got  over  the 
bridge ;  but  when  I  was  going  up  the  hill  to  the 
gate,  my  knees  failed  me,  my  heart  gave  way,  I 
felt  as  if  I  was  fighting  with  God !  I  turned 
about  and  came  back  here  to  the  door,  but  I  could 
not  get  in  to  save  my  life:  I  was  ashamed  to  be 
seen  here.  I  thought  every  body  would  laugh  at 
me,  if  it  should  be  known,  and  I  could  not  bear 
that :  and  I  was  afraid  I  should  not  hold  out  if  I 
began,  and  then  I  should  be  ashamed  of  myself  to 
go  back  to  the  world.  So  I  gave  it  up  and  went 
off  determined  to  think  no  more  about  it.  But  I 
could  not  help  thinking.  I  stopped  on  the  bridge 
and  stood  there  a  long  time,  looking  first  one  way 
and  then  the  other,  and  I  could  not  stir  a  step 
either  way.  A  man  came  along  and  passed  me  as 
I  stood  there  in  the  dark,  and  I  went  on  after  him 
up  the  hill,  till  I  got  my  hand  upon  the  gate.     But 


DETERMINATION.  291 

I  could  not  open  it :  I  thought  I  was  opening  the 
door  of  hell  to  go  in !  I  determined  I  would  come 
back,  or  die  in  the  attempt.  But  I  was  afraid  to 
trust  my  resolution ;  so  I  ran  with  all  my  might 
and  stopped  for  nothing,  till  I  got  my  seat  here. — I 
am  a  dreadful  sinner  !  I  have  opposed  Grod.  If  I 
do  not  gain  salvation  now,  it  will  be  too  late  for 
me  !  I  have  struggled  against  the  Holy  Spirit  for 
a  month !  My  heart  has  been  too  stout  for  me  ; 
but  I  have  made  out  to  get  here." 

I  conversed  with  him  for  a  few  moments,  and 
dismissing  the  assembly,  accompanied  him  to  his 
own  door,  and  bade  him  good  night.  In  my  con- 
versation with  him,  I  aimed  to  convince  him  of 
the  mercy  of  God  to  sinners,  through  Jesus 
Christ, — of  the  necessity  of  faith  in  Christ,  and 
repentance  for  sin, — of  the  free  offer  of  salvation 
to  be  accepted  at  once, — of  the  hardness,  wicked- 
ness, and  obstinacy  of  his  heart,  which  was  every 
instant  resisting  truth  and  the  Holy  Spirit. 

The  next  morning,  early,  my  door-bell  rang 
violently.  I  opened  the  door,  and  there  he  stood, 
pale,  and  trembling.  "  I  can't  live  so  !"  said  he, 
with  a  look  of  agony. — "  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

"  Mr.   R ,"   said   I,   "  you    are  very   much 

afraid  of  going  to  hell,  but" — 

"Hell?"  said  he ;— "  I  never  thought  of  it! 
It  is  this  heart"  (said  he,  smiting  upon  his  breast,) 
— "  my  dreadful  heart !     It  fights  against  Grod ! 


292  DETERMINATION 

That  is  what  puts  me  in  this  awful  agony  !" — 
Said  I : — 

"  Your  only  hope  must  be  in  the  power  of  the 
Divine  Spirit  to  subdue  your  rebellion." 

"  I  find  it  so,  sir.  I  have  tried  all  night,  and  I 
am  as  much  at  war  with  (rod  as  ever !  If  he 
does  not  save  me  I  am  gone  !     Pray  for  me." 

This  young  man  became  at  peace  very  soon. 
Two  days  afterwards  I  found  him  calm.  He  af- 
terwards became  a  member  of  the  church  ;  and 
for  the  ten  years  that  I  knew  him,  he  was  one  of 
the  most  devoted  and  constant  Christians  I  have 
ever  known.  Remembering  the  struggle  of  that 
night,  when  he  ran  to  get  to  our  meeting,  lest  his 
heart  should  get  the  victory  over  him  ;  he  was  ac- 
customed to  insist  upon  '  decision,  decision,  de- 
cision,' to  every  anxious  sinner  whom  he  ad- 
dressed. Said  he,  "  If  you  expect  G-od  to  help 
you,  you  must  be  perfectly  decided." 


Decision  is  a  vastly  important  matter  with  a 
convicted  sinner.  The  Bible  treats  it  as  such. 
"  Choose  ye  this  day  whom  ye  will  serve."  A 
sinner  must  choose,  or  he  must  be  lost.  Nobody 
else  can  choose  for  him.  Nothing  can  excuse  him 
from  doing  this  duty,  at  once.  If  he  will  not  do 
it,  he  may  expect  the  divine  Spirit  to  depart  from 
him,  and  leave  him  to  his  own  way. 


THE  MISERABLE  HEART, 

OR,  DELUSION   AND   INFIDELITY. 


My  duty  required  of  me,  as  I  thought,  to 
preach,  at  one  time,  upon  the  subject  of  church 
discipline.  Late  in  the  evening  of  the  day  on 
which  the  sermon  was  preached,  my  door-bell 
rang  ;  and  as  my  family  had  all  retired,  I  went 
to  the  door,  supposing  some  sick  person  had  prob- 
ably sent  for  me.  As  I  opened  the  door,  I  was 
surprised  to  behold  a  young  lady,  a  member  of  my 
church.  I  instantly  thought  some  one  of  the  fam- 
ily must  have  been  taken  suddenly  ill,  or  some 
calamity  must  have  occurred,  to  bring  her  to  my 
house  at  such  a  late  hour.  I  instantly  inquired 
what  was  the  matter  ;  and  I  felt  the  more  anx- 
ious, because  I  noticed  that  she  was  very  much 
agitated.  She  did  not  answer  very  readily.  She 
said  the  family  were  well,  and  nothing  sad  had 
happened.  I  could  not  conjecture  what  had 
brought  her  there.     She  refused  to  come  in.     As 


294  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

she  stood  trembling  in  the  hall,  I  told  her  she 
must  tell  me  what  was  the  matter,  offered  her  any 
service  I  could  render,  and  tenderly  endeavored  to 
soothe  her  agitation.  Finally,  she  tremblingly 
and  hesitatingly  said  : — 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  if  you  are  going  to  dis- 
cipline me." 

"  Discipline  you !  my  dear  girl ;  what  do  yon 
mean  ?     No.     Why  should  you  be  disciplined  ?" 

m  Why,"  says  she,  "  you  have  been  preaching 
to-day  about  church  discipline,  and  I  thought  you 
were  going  to  discipline  me." 

"  No,  no!  Why  discipline  you?  What  have 
you  done  to  deserve  it  ?" 

She  gave  me  no  answer,  but  trembled  so  greatly, 
that  I  thought  she  would  fall  upon  the  floor.  I 
was  astonished.  She  belonged  to  one  of  the  most 
respectable  families  of  the  place,  was  a  very  mod- 
est and  amiable  girl  not  twenty  years  old,  and  I 
had  never  heard  a  syllable  against  her.  I  could 
not  induce  her  tf  take  a  seat  in  the  parlor,  nor 
could  I  persuade  her  to  tell  me  why  she  had 
thought,  that  she  was  to  be  disciplined.  I  assured 
her,  that  I  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing — 
had  never  heard  a  lisp  against  her,  and  kindly  in- 
treated  her  to  tell  me  all  her  thoughts,  promising 
her  the  most  inviolable  secrecy.  But  she  would 
not  tell  me.  I  soothed  her  agitation  all  in  my 
power,     I  accompanied  her  home  to  her  own  door, 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  295 

and  begged  permission  to  call  and  see  her  the  next 
day. 

I  went.  But  still  she  refused  to  tell  me  what 
led  her  to  suppose,  that  she  was  to  be  made  the 
subject  of  discipline.  And  I  did  not  succeed  in 
getting  the  explanation,  till  I  had  conversed  with 
her  in  private,  more  than  once ;  had  gained  her 
entire  confidence,  and  had  promised  her,  that,  be 
her  case  what  it  might,  I  never  would  make  use 
of  anything  she  should  say  to  me,  in  any  manner 
whatever,  without  her  permission.  She  appeared 
so  unhappy  every  time  I  saw  her,  so  agitated  and 
gloomy,  that  I  pitied  her  very  much.  I  thought 
she  needed  some  friend  to  lean  upon ;  and  offering 
her  all  I  could  do,  I  had  no  hesitation  in  promising 
to  keep  her  dreadful  secret.  She  told  me  it  was  a 
secret.  She  had  never  told  her  mother,  or  any  one 
else  :  it  was  known  only  to  herself. 

She  then  told  me,  that  she  had  no  religion,  no 
hope  !  She  knew,  that  she  ought  not  to  be  a  com- 
municant, while  in  her  unbelief ;  and  she  thought, 
that  I  had  had  penetration  enough  to  discover  her 
state  of  mind,  in  some  way  that  she  knew  not  of, 
and  was  determined  to  have  her  cast  out  of  the 
church.  She  wondered  at  my  supposed  discovery ; 
for  she  had  never  till  that  moment,  as  she  said,  "  ut- 
tered a  word  about  her  feelings  to  any  person  on 
earth." 

This  disclosure  surprised  me ;  but  it  greatly  re- 


296  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

lieved  me.  I  thanked  her  for  it,  and  assured  her 
of  my  fidelity  to  her,  and  the  affectionate  interest 
I  felt  in  her. 

But  as  I  began  to  exhort  her  to  seek  (rod  and 
explain  religion  to  her,  according  to  the  scriptures ; 
I  soon  discovered,  as  I  thought,  that  I  had  not  yet 
reached  the  bottom  of  the  matter.  Something 
seemed  to  be  locked  up  in  her  own  mind.  I  told 
her  so.  I  begged  her  to  tell  me,  if  it  was  not  so. 
After  much  hesitation  on  her  part  and  urgency  on 
mine,  she  confessed  it  was  so.  Most  affectionately 
I  entreated  her  to  tell  me  all,  so  that  I  might  be  able 
to  comfort  her  unhappiness,  if  possible  ;  and  might 
counsel  her,  in  a  manner  appropriate  to  her  case. 

I  treated  her  so  affectionately  and  tenderly,  that 
she  became  evidently  much  attached  to  me ;  and, 
little  by  little,  she  opened  her  mind  to  me  very  re- 
luctantly, because,  (as  she  said,)  she  knew  it 
would  give  me  pain  ;  and  I  had  "  been  so  kind  to 
her,  that  she  felt  very  unwilling  to  give  me  any 
unhappiness,  on  a  matter  wherein  I  could  do  her 
no  good." 

I  found,  that  she  was  entirely  an  infidel.  She 
did  not  believe  in  the  Bible — she  did  not  believe  in 
any  religion — she  did  not  believe  in  the  immortal- 
ity of  the  soul,  or  in  the  existence  of  a  Grod.  She 
thought,  that  man  died  and  went  to  nothing,  just 
as  a  tree  dies — its  trunk  and  its  leaves  and  its  liv- 
ing principle  perishing  together.     And  the  failure 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  297 

of  mind  in  old  age,  she  deemed  a  strong  indication 
of  its  falling  into  non-existence  at  death. 

She  had  become  a  member  of  the  church,  when 
she  was  very  young,  attending  school,  a  girl  about 
fifteen  or  sixteen  years  old.  She  said  she  was  ex- 
cited, in  a  time  of  revival,  as  others  were ;  wept 
as  they  wept ;  attended  the  religious  meetings  ap 
pointed  by  the  minister  for  those  of  her  age,  (ordi 
narily  in  the  school ;)  listened  to  his  exhortations 
was  affected  by  what  he  said ;  had  fears  of  punish 
ment  and  then  hopes  of  heaven  ;  and  when  a  time 
was  appointed  for  the  examination  of  those  who 
desired  to  join  the  church,  she  went  with  the  rest 
of  the  girls.  She  thought  then,  that  she  was  doing 
rightly,  and  never  dreamed  of  any  error  or  decep- 
tion. But  she  thought  now,  that  all  those  feelings 
were  the  mere  effect  of  sympathy,  fear  and  imagi- 
nation. The  examination  for  her  reception  into 
the  church  was  very  little,  except  an  exhortation. 
Only  one  question  was  put  to  her,  "  how  long  have 
you  had  a  hope?"  to  which  she  replied,  "about 
four  weeks."  This,  she  said,  was  the  only  ques- 
tion, that  any  person  ever  asked  her  at  all  about 
her  religious  feelings ;  till  years  afterwards,  when 
I  first  saw  her,  and  finding  she  was  a  member  of 
the  church,  asked  her,  if  she  thought  she  was  grow- 
ing in  grace.  She  joined  the  church;  and  had 
beyn  regularly  to  the  communion  ever  since,  a 
period  of  about  five  years.     She  had  not  stayed 


298  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

away,  because  of  the  great  repugnance  she  felt  to 
being  made  the  subject  of  remark  ;  and  for  the 
same  reason,  she  had  not  mentioned  the  state  of 
her  mind  to  any  person  whatever.  She  had  been 
exceedingly  miserable  all  the  time ;  had  felt  the 
need  of  some  one  to  talk  with ;  and  now,  for  the 
two  or  three  weeks  since  she  first  began  to  open 
her  mind  to  me,  sad  and  gloomy  as  she  still 
was,  she  was  happy,  beyond  anything  she  ever  ex- 
pected to  be.  She  had  long  felt  conscious,  that 
she  was  unfit  to  be  a  communicant ;  that  there 
was  a  wrong  and  a  meanness  in  professing  what 
she  did  not  believe  ;  and  she  despised  herself  for  it. 
But  she  supposed,  if  she  should  reveal  her  feelings 
and  opinions,  they  would  make  her  a  subject  of 
discipline,  or  at  least,  everybody  would  be  talking 
about  her,  or  pointing  at  her,  as  an  apostate  ;  which 
disgraceful  notoriety  and  scorn,  she  felt  that  she 
could  not  bear — her  whole  nature  shrunk  from  it. 
And  this  was  the  afflictive  idea,  which  had  com- 
pelled her  to  go  to  my  house,  at  that  late  hour  of 
the  evening,  when  she  thought  no  one  would  know 
it,  and  when  she  came  to  me,  with  such  a  burden 
on  her  heart.  "  Oh  !"  said  she  ;  "  if  I  could  have 
borne  it,  I  never  should  have  gone  there.  It  was 
a  hard  trial !" 

By  this  time  I  had  become  well  acquainted 
with  her,  and  could  judge  of  the  power  and  char- 
acter of  her  mind,  and  the   natural  turn  of  her 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  299 

disposition.  She  was  no  ordinary  girl.  She  had 
an  uncommon  degree  of  intellectual  power,  and 
especially  of  keen  discrimination.  She  was  a 
severe  reasoner.  She  grasped  the  points  of  an  ar- 
gument with  the  hand  of  a  giant,  after  she  had 
discerned  them  with  the  eye  of  an  eagle.  Often 
afterwards  I  had  occasion  to  be  humbled  before 
the  penetration  and  strength  of  her  uncommon 
mind.  She  was  modest  and  timid  to  a  fault. 
Mind — reason,  was  her  forte.  She  had  not  much 
poetry  about  her.  Her  taste,  however,  was  cor- 
rect, not  only,  as  might  be  expected  from  the 
severe  correctness  of  her  intellect,  but  it  was  gen- 
tle and  refined  also,  as  might  be  expected  from 
the  amiableness  of  her  affectionate  disposition.  A 
truer  heart  never  beat  or  bled.  She  was  all 
woman,  all  affection.  A  stranger  might  not  think 
so  ;  because  she  was  timid  and  reserved  in  her 
manners,  which  cast  over  her  an  aspect  of  cold- 
ness. She  had  a  fine  education,  moved  in  polite 
society,  and  was  universally  esteemed.  The 
more  I  knew  of  her  mind  and  heart,  the  more  I 
esteemed  and  loved  her. 

She  was  now  perfectly  miserable.  She  was 
ashamed  of  being  in  the  church,  and  would  be 
ashamed  to  leave  it.  What  to  do  she  did  not 
know  ;  and  saying,  with  a  flood  of  tears,  "  Now, 
my  dear  pastor,  I  have  told  you  all, — what  I  sup- 
posed  I  never   should  tell   anybody,  but  carry  it 


300  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

with  me,  (a  dreadful  secret,)  to  my  grave  ;"  she 
cast  herself  upon  my  kindness  and  sense  of  duty, 
to  treat  her  as  I  pleased.  "  Disgrace  me  if  you 
will.     I  know  you  will  do  right !" 

Being  resolved  to  spare  no  pains  to  do  her  good, 
if  God  would  deign  to  bless  my  poor  attempts ; 
and  fearing,  that  her  sensitive  mind  would  be  too 
much  diverted  from  the  one  thing  needful,  if  she 
should  have  her  feelings  excited  by  the  idea,  that 
people  were  talking  of  her,  I  enjoined  upon  her  to 
say  nothing  to  any  one  about  her  religious  feel- 
ings,— to  keep  on  just  as  she  had  been  doing, — to 
attend  church, — to  go  to  the  communion, — and 
not  be  troubled  about  anything  but  her  own  pri- 
vate religion.  I  had  some  doubts  about  giving  her 
this  advice,  to  attend  the  communion.  But  she 
was  a  member  of  the  church, — her  covenant  call- 
ed her  there, — now,  she  was  going  there  only  for 
a  season,  unless  her  mind  became  different, — and 
if  she  did  not  go,  I  was  fully  convinced,  that  she 
would  become  too  much  agitated  and  diverted  in 
mind,  for  a  just  consideration  of  the  matters  which 
I  was  going  to  urge  upon  her  attention.  She  was 
peculiarly  sensitive.  Her  feelings  were  very  deli- 
cate. She  had  been  tormented  for  years,  with  the 
idea  of  her  condition.  She  had  despised  herself 
for  going  to  the  Lord's  supper  ;  and  thus  deceiving 
other  people  by  professing  to  be  a  Christian,  while 
she  did  not  believe  in   any  religion ;    and  yet  she 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  301 

could  not  endure  the  idea  of  being  exposed,  and 
made  the  subject  of  remark.  Moreover,  she  felt, 
that  it  was  not  her  fault  that  she  was  a  member 
of  the  church.  She  had  only  done  what  her  min- 
ister, and  others  older  than  herself,  had  urged  her 
to  do ;  and  if  anybody  was  to  be  blamed  for  her 
being  in  the  church,  the  blame  was  not  hers,  but 
theirs. — I  thought  so  too,  and  frankly  told  her  so. 

In  order  to  be  as  well  prepared  as  possible,  to 
lead  her  mind  out  of  its  dark  and  miserable  error, 
into  the  light  and  cheering  of  truth  ;  I  wished  her 
to  tell  me  how  her  mind  had  been  led  into  this 
infidelity, — an  infidelity  which  really  was  just 
atheism  ;  for  she  did  not  believe  in  the  existence 
of  Grod. — Her  account  was  as  follows  : — 

A  few  months  after  she  became  a  member  of  the 
church,  her  excitement  having  worn  off,  she  found 
herself  just  the  same  that  she  always  had  been. 
Her  mind  was  the  same ;  her  taste,  her  heart,  her 
delights  and  desires  were  the  same.  Instead  of 
finding  in  religion  the  peace  of  mind,  the  delight 
in  God,  and  the  love  of  prayer,  which  she  had 
been  taught  to  expect,  "  if  she  would  go  forward 
and  do  her  duty,"  as  it  was  called ;  she  found 
nothing  at  all.  With  her,  at  least,  religion  was 
all  a  delusion. 

Her  next  step  was  to  examine  into  the  case  of 
her  associates,  those  of  her  own  age,  who  had 
joined  the  church  when  she  did.     She  said  noth- 

26 


302  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

ing  to  any  one  of  them,  but  she  watched  them. 
"What  they  did,  what  they  said,  where  they  went, 
how  they  felt,  where  they  sought  their  pleasures, 
and  placed  their  affections,  were  all  matters  of  her 
continued  and  close  observation  and  study.  She 
saw  that  they  were  under  some  restraint,  indeed  ; 
but  so  was  she ;  and  she  thought  it  was  the  same 
with  them,  as  she  knew  it  was  with  herself ;  con- 
sistency with  her  profession  restrained  her.  So 
far  as  she  could  judge,  they  were  just  like  herself. 
If  she  had  no  religion  there  was  no  evidence  that 
they  had  any.  "  Why,"  said  she,  "  do  you  be- 
lieve that  Miss  Susan  M is  what  you  call  a 

Christian  ?" 

"  No,"  said  I ;  "  not  at  all." 

"  Or  Miss  Sally  E—  ?"  said  she. 

"  No,"  said  I ;   "  not  at  all." 

"  Or  Elizabeth  C—  ?" 

"  No,"  said  I. 

"Or  Miss  D— -?  or  Martha  F  — ?  or  Miss 
B— ?" 

"  No,  not  one  of  them." 

"  Oh  !"  said  she  suddenly  ;  "  what  have  I  said  ! 
I  beg  your  pardon.  I  did  not  mean  to  mention  any 
one's  name.  I  forgot  myself.  I  am  very  sorry. 
Since  I  have  become  so  well  acquainted  with  you, 
and  told  you  all  my  heart ;  I  feel,  when  I  am  talk- 
ing with  you,  just  as  if  I  was  thinking  alone." 

"  I  should  be  sorry  and  half  offended,  if  you  did 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  303 

not  feel  so.  You  did  right  to  call  their  names ; 
and  you  perceive  I  answered  promptly.  To  you. 
I  can  say  anything.  I  can  trust  you.  And  I 
want  you  to  trust  me." 

These  persons,  whom  she  named,  were  all  mem- 
bers of  the  church ;  were  her  friends  and  asso- 
ciates ;  had  become  church  members  about  the 
time  she  became  such ;  and  I  am  sure  she  would 
not,  on  any  account,  have  done  them  any  injustice 
or  injury.  In  my  opinion,  she  judged  rightly  of 
them.  I  did  not  wish  her  to  judge  of  religion,  by 
their  exemplification  of  it ;  and  therefore  answered 
her  frankly,  because  I  could  trust  her,  and  because 
I  knew,  if  I  did  not  give  her  my  confidence,  I 
could  not  secure  hers. 

Her  next  step  had  been,  to  look  a  little  farther. 
She  thought  of  all  the  members  of  the  church 
whom  she  knew ;  to  see,  if  it  was  not  with  them, 
just  as  she  knew  it  was  with  herself,  and  had  in- 
ferred it  was  with  her  young  companions.  On 
this  point  she  found  great  difficulty.  She  studied 
it  for  weeks.  Some  of  these  people  really  seemed 
to  be  different  from  those  called  unbelievers.  They 
seemed  to  be  above  the  world,  to  have  joy  in  re- 
ligion, to  be  conscientious,  to  love  prayer  and  other 
religious  duties,  and  evidently  they  were  sincere. 
It  did  appear,  that  there  might  be  some  propriety 
in  saying,  that  such  persons  had  a  new  heart. 
She  could  not  account  for  these  things,  on  the  sup- 


304  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

position  that  religion  was  to  tliem  what  it  was  to 
her.  Buf  she  remembered,  that  most  of  them 
were  old  people,  who  had  not  any  longer  a  taste 
for  the  pleasures  of  life ;  and  on  this  ground,  she 
could  account  for  their  sobriety  and  much  else  in 
them,  which  distinguished  them  from  other  people. 
They  expected  to  die  soon  ;  and  it  was  natural, 
that  they  should  not  greatly  set  their  affections 
upon  the  world.  "  You  might  expect  that  my 
mother,  at  her  age,  would  not  feel  about  the  world 
as  I  do."  But  then,  there  was  a  difficulty — she 
could  not  believe  them  insincere — hypocrites,  like 
herself.  They  evidently  believed  in  religion,  and 
evidently  had  some  felicity  in  its  exercises  and 
hopes.  But  she  recollected,  that  it  was  so  with 
herself  once  ;  that  she  used  to  love  prayer,  as  she 
thought ;  and  enjoy  the  Sabbaths  and  the  sermons. 
She  had  now  found  out,  that  this  was  all  a  de- 
lusion with  her ;  and  therefore,  came  to  the  con- 
clusion, that  it  was  all  a  delusion  with  them. 
"  The  difference,"  said  she,  "  betwixt  myself  and 
them  seems  to  me  to  be  this — they  have  been  so 
fortunate  as  not  to  find  out,  that  religion  is  all  a 
deception ;  and  I  have  been  so  zmfortunate  as  to 
find  it  out  fully."  On  the  whole,  she  came  to  the 
conclusion,  that  other  members  of  the  church  had 
really  no  new  heart,  any  more  than  she  had — that 
they  were  just  like  herself,  only,  they  were  in  a 
happy  delusion  which,  unhappily  for  her,  she  had 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  305 

found  out  to  be  a  delusion. — All  other  churches 
and  Christians,  she  disposed  of  in  the  same  way — 
"  happy  dreamers,"  was  her  description  of  them. 

The  next  step  was  to  examine,  where  this  de- 
lusion, called  religion,  came  from.  It  manifestly 
came  from  the  Bible.  She  then  examined  the 
Bible  very  carefully  for  weeks,  and  she  found  it  so. 
Ministers  preached  the  Bible.  Christians  talked 
about  repentance,  faith,  prayer,  regeneration,  peace, 
and  all  religion,  just  as  the  Bible  talked.  But  she 
had  now  discovered,  that  all  this  personal,  experi- 
mental religion  was  a  falsehood ;  and  therefore 
concluded,  that  the  Bible  it  came  from,  must  be  a 
falsehood  also.  The  religion,  her  own  and  that 
of  other  people,  was  only  a  delusion ;  and  as  it 
originated  in  the  Bible  and  was  what  the  Bible 
asked  for ;  the  Bible  itself  must  be  a  delusion. 
She  therefore  discarded  it,  at  a  single  dash. 

She  then  found  herself  entirely  afloat,  on  an 
ocean  of  midnight.  She  had  no  guide,  and  no 
certainty.  All  she  could  do,  was  to-  reason;  and 
reason  very  much  in  the  dark.  And  as  she  went 
on  from  one  thing  to  another,  she  saw  no  satisfac- 
tory proofs  of  the  future  existence  of  the  soul ;  and 
expected  soon  to  die  and  cease  to  exist,  just  like  a 
beast  or  a  tree.  She  thought  it  more  reasonable 
to  believe,  that  the  world  was  eternal,  than  that  it 
had  been  created  ;  and  that  it  would  always  go  on, 
as  it  does  now,  than  that  it  would  ever  come  to  an 

26* 


306  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

end.  She  saw  no  proofs  of  the  existence  of  God, 
and  could  give  no  account  of  the  existence  of  any- 
thing else ;  only,  that  it  happened  to  be  so.  When 
urged  to  tell  how  it  came  about,  that  all  these 
chance  operations  were  such  regular  operations, 
and  so  strongly  indicative  of  intellect  and  design — 
to  tell  how  conscience,  (for  example,)  comes  to  be 
such  a  liar  about  a  future  and  fearful  accounta- 
bility, since  it  is  so  truthful  about  things  here — to 
tell  how  it  came  about,  that  the  very  ideas  about 
Grod  and  immortality  ever  got  abroad  among  men, 
if  they  are  only  fictions  and  dreams — to  account 
for  the  existence  of  the  Bible,  which  told  her  with 
unerring  accuracy  the  very  inside  of  her  heart,  as 
no  human  being  could  tell ;  she  could  only  reply, 
that  she  had  "  no  answer  to  give ;  it  seemed  to 
her,  that  she  knew  nothing.  All  was  in  the  dark." 
I  then  besought  her,  to  take  up  this  subject, 
and  reason  upon  one  thing  at  a  time  most  care- 
fully— not  to  be  afraid  to  reason  upon  anything — 
not  to  let  anything  go,  till  she  was  satisfied  about 
it — and  not  to  dismiss  the  matter,  till  she  had  an 
established  faith,  and  a  hope  fit  to  die  with.  I 
proposed  to  reason  with  her  ;  and  would  not  blame 
her  but  commend  her,  for  overthrowing  every  ar- 
gument, if  she  could.  I  offered  to  be  an  infidel 
and  an  atheist  with  her,  if  reason  and  truth 
would  make  me  so ;  and  I  promised  to  lead  her 
mind  out  of  this  darkness,  if  she  would  only  at- 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  307 

tend  to  me.  I  did  not  care  what  she  denied  or 
where  she  began.  She  might  deny  her  own  exist- 
ence, if  she  pleased.;  and  I  would  beat  her,  till  she 
believed  in  it,  by  the  evidence  of  her  own  senses. 
But  I  wanted  her  to  get  some  one  thing  settled 
first,  as  a  foundation,  on  which  to  build  another 
thing,  or  a  way,  by  which  to  reach  another.  I 
wanted  she  should  have  a  bog  to  stand  upon,  in  or- 
der to  jump  to  another,  and  thence  to  another,  till 
she  got  out  of  this  dreary  morass,'with  her  feet  upon 
solid  ground.  And  I  assured  her,  that  my  only 
doubt,  about  her  perfect  and  happy  success,  rested 
on  the  fear,  that  her  mind  would  not  stick  to  a  con- 
clusion or  a  truth,  when  once  demonstrated  to  her. 
If  it  would,  I  knew  she  would  arrive,  (perhaps  not 
soon,)  at  an  intellectual  certainty  upon  religion,  as 
clear,  strong  and  full,  as  she  had  or  could  have,  upon 
any  other  subject.  And  I  entreated  her  to  com- 
mence in  an  instant  a  careful  examination. 

She  was  very  reluctant  to  do  so.  She  said  it 
would  only  make  her  unhappy ;  and  she  did  not 
wish  to  think  of  the  matter.  It  would  do  no  good. 
She  besought  me  to  let  her  alone,  not  to  care  for 
her,  but  leave  her  to  her  own  way ;  and  I  have  al- 
ways supposed,  that  she  was  finally  led  to  the  ex- 
amination and  study  I  urged  upon  her,  more  for 
my  sake,  than  her  own.  She  had  become  greatly 
attached  to  me.  I  had  treated  her  kindly,  had 
sympathized  with  her ;  and  she  had  found  it,  as 


308  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

she  declared,  "  a  precious  relief,  if  not  a  delight,  to 
have  one  human  being,  to  whom  she  could  open 
her  heart."  She  finally  consented  to  examine  the 
matter  of  religion  again. 

I  at  first  attempted  to  convince  her  of  the  truth 
of  the  Bible,  as  the  shortest  way  of  settling  the 
whole  matter ;  but  I  soon  found,  that  some  other 
things  must  for  her  be  settled  first. 

By  a  course  of  reasoning  I  succeeded  in  convin- 
cing her  of  the  existence  of  Grod.  This  took  some 
time.  She  was  a  whole  week  over  the  subject. 
As  I  could  not  spend  so  much  time  with  her  in 
conversation,  as  I  thought  she  needed  ;  and  as  I 
found  that  she  would  sometimes  waver  after- 
wards, about  a  conclusion  which  she  had  once 
reached  ;  I  wrote  down  for  her  the  condensed  ar- 
guments, that  she  might  examine  them  at  her 
leisure,  and  refute  them  if  she  could,  or  tell  me 
if  they  were  not  fully  satisfactory.  I  had  no  need 
to  expand  them.  She  had  fully  mind  enough  tc 
do  all  that  for  herself,  and  to  understand  all  that 
they  contained.  I  continued  to  do  this  for  weeks, 
going  over  one  subject  after  another ;  and  she  con- 
tinued to  examine  and  scrutinize,  with  an  intel- 
lectual acumen  which  astonished  me.  She  fought 
every  inch  of  ground,  and  never  retreated  a  single 
step  till  she  was  fairly  compelled  to  it,  and  never 
suffered  a  weak  or  unsatisfactory  argument  to  es- 
cape her  detection.     In  this  mode, — she  first  sug- 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  309 

gesting  her  doubts  or  difficulties,  I  writing  for  her 
the  arguments  and  proofs  on  the  point,  she  reading 
them,  and  then,  in  conversation  stating  her  con- 
clusions or  her  doubts  to  me,  and  I  responding  ; 
we  went  over  a  wide  field.  I  demonstrated  to  her 
satisfaction,  such  things  as  the  existence  of  Grod, 
his  infinity,  eternity,  immutability,  omniscience, 
omnipotence,  wisdom,  justice,  truth,  and  goodness, 
his  creation  of  all  things,  and  his  providence  over 
all  things. — To  copy  here  what  I  wrote  for  her 
would  make  this  sketch  too  long. — As  soon  as  she 
became  fully  convinced  of  (rod's  existence  and 
dominion,  I  insisted  upon  it  that  she  should  pray 
to  him,  and  convinced  her  reason  that  this  was 
her  duty,  and  one  which  she  ought  to  love.  In 
this  mode,  all  along,  I  aimed  to  bring  in  religious 
practice,  as  soon  as  I  had  established  a  doctrine  or 
truth  to  found  it  upon.  And  when  she  made  ob- 
jections to  prayer,  which  she  had  never  attempted 
for  years ;  it  gave  me  an  opportunity  to  show  by 
argument  addressed  to  reason,  that  her  heart,  in- 
stead of  being  as  it  ought  to  be,  filial  towards 
Grod,  was  just  what  the  Bible  says  it  is,  enmity 
against  him.  "And  here  is  one  proof  that  the 
Bible  is  true."  And  thus  I  prepared  the  way  for 
preaching  the  gospel  to  her  by-and-by,  when  she 
should  have  become  fully  convinced  that  it  came 
from  Grod. 

By  arguments  addressed  to  her  reason,  I  con- 


310  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

vinced  her  of  the  accountability  of  man,  of  a 
future  life  and  future  judgment.  There  were 
some  points  on  which  T  tried  in  vain  to  satisfy  her' 
fully,  aside  from  the  sacred  scriptures ;  such  as 
the  goodness  of  God,  and  the  certainty  of  eternal 
existence.  But  she  had  now  gone  far  enough  to 
examine  whether  the  Bible  is  G-od's  word.  Of 
this  she  became  convinced  in  a  few  weeks,  mainly 
by  the  evidence  which  it  carries  along  with  it.  I 
preferred  the  internal  to  the  external  evidences, 
as  lying  nearer  the  heart  of  religion,  and  as  con- 
stituting, after  all,  the  real  ground  on  which  the 
great  majority  of  mankind  must  ever  receive  the 
Bible,  as  from  God.  And  when  she  had  come 
to  receive  the  Bible  as  God's  word,  all  the  rest 
was  easy,  so  far  as  the  reality  and  nature  of  re- 
ligion were  concerned.  Thus,  after  months  of  ex- 
amination and  study,  she  became  fully  settled  in 
the  belief,  that  the  Christian  religion  is  true. 

This  belief  did  not  seem  to  comfort  her  at  all. 
She  had  no  hope  in  Christ,  and  was  as  far  off  from 
peace  as  ever.  But  her  mind  now  rested  upon  an 
undoubted  certainty ;  and  this,  of  itself,  was  an 
ineffable  relief,  though  containing  no  comforts  of 
hope. 

She  now  began  to  seek  the  Lord  with  great 
steadiness  of  mind.  It  was  no  easy  thing  for  her. 
She  had  been  deceived  once,  and  remembered  the 
bitterness  it  cost  her.     She  was  for  manv  tedious 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  311 

months  an  anxious  inquirer,  but  she  did  not  de- 
sist. She  attained  to  a  comfortable  hope  in 
Christ ;  and  she  yet  lives,  one  of  the  most  en- 
lightened and  established  believers,  one  of  my  own 
most  precious  friends. 

If  these  pages  should  ever  fall  into  her  hands,  I 
am  fully  aware,  that  her  delicate  and  sensitive 
bosom  may  be  agitated  by  them  ;  but  I  know,  that 
her  affectionate  heart  will  forgive  me  for  the  pub- 
lication. Only  she  and  myself  can  know  the 
original  of  this  sketch. 

She  has  told  me,  (I  have  it,  indeed,  in  her  own 
letters  written  to  me  long  afterwards,)  that  if  I 
had  not  addressed  her  judgment  as  I  did,  if  I  had 
addressed  her  fears  or  her  hopes,  or  exhorted  her 
only,  she  did  not  believe,  that  her  "  mind  would 
ever  have  been  led  into  the  truth." — "  Through 
my  judgment,"  says  she,  "you  forced  a  way  into 
my  heart :  you  made  my  own  understanding  and 
conscience  preach  to  me.  I  wish  ministers  in 
their  sermons  would  employ  this  way  of  reasoning 
more  than  they  do." 


As  nearly  as  I  could  ascertain,  in  my  judgment, 
her  opinion  of  the  course  pursued  with  her  in  that 
revival   of  religion   when    she   united   with   the 


312  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

church,  was  a  just  opinion.  She  and  her  young 
associates  in  that  school  were  very  much  sepa- 
rated from  older  persons,  when  their  attention  was 
particularly  expected  to  be  fixed  upon  religion. 
Little  was  said  to  them  in  the  way  of  instruction, 
but  much  for  the  purpose  of  impression.  The 
great  doctrines,  the  fundamental  truths  of  religion, 
on  which  all  safety  rests,  were  very  little  explain- 
ed to  them.  "  It  seems  to  me  now,"  says  she, 
"  that  all  they  wanted  was  to  make  us  weep." 
They  were  not  told  what  repentance  is,  what  faith 
is,  what  regeneration  is,  the  very  things,  which 
children,  especially,  need  to  have  taught  to  them. 
They  were  merely  led  on,  by  excited  and  impul- 
sive feelings,  rendered  the  more  dangerous  by  the 
quick  sympathies  of  early  life.  Against  such  pro- 
ceedings, her  whole  mind  was  now  fixed.  And  in 
conversation  with  her,  the  idea  was  often  suggest- 
ed to  my  mind ;  how  frequently  ministers  address 
children  upon  the  subject  of  religion,  as  they  ought 
to  address  those  of  mature  age,  and  address  those 
of  mature  age,  as  they  ought  to  address  children. 
It  is  children,  who  need  instruction.  It  is  the 
older,  who  need  impression.  Children  are  suffi- 
ciently ready  to  feel.  The  danger  is,  that  their 
sensibilities  will  outrun  their  knowledge  and  judg- 
ment. Older  persons  are  slow  to  feel.  Their 
danger  is,  that  they  will  not  have  feeling  enough 
to  impel  them  to  obey  their  judgment. 


THE     MISERABLE     HEART.  313 

Admission  to  the  sealing  ordinances  of  the 
church,  especially  in  times  of  revival,  is  a  point  of 
no  little  danger.  Our  ministers  and  churches  have 
too  often  erred  on  this  point.  It  seems  to  be  very 
often  forgotten,  that  then,  the  popular  feeling 
tends  into  the  church ;  fashion  is  that  way  and 
sympathy  that  way ;  and  all  the  common  influ- 
ences which  the  young  are  particularly  likely  to 
feel,  tend  to  urge  them  forward  in  the  same  direc- 
tion. Far  better  would  it  be  for  the  purity  of  the 
church,  and  for  the  comfort  and  salvation  of  in- 
dividuals ;  if  some  few  months  were  allowed  to 
pass,  before  the  hopefully  converted  are  received 
into  the  communion,  especially  in  times  of  revival. 
I  have  no  reason  to  think,  that  my  young  friend, 
of  whom  I  have  here  spoken,  judged  wrongfully 
about  the  piety  of  her  associates,  whom  she  named 
to  me  ;  but  I  have  much  reason  to  know,  that  her 
judgment  was  just.  I  afterwards  sought  out 
every  one  of  them,  and  alone  they  opened  their 
hearts  to  me. 

It  is  a  very  difficult  and  laborious  thing  for  a 
minister  to  deal  with  such  cases,  as  I  have  here 
mentioned.  It  will  be  hard  for  him  to  find  time. 
But  he  ought  to  find  it.  He  will  seldom  labor  in 
vain  ;  and  while  engaged  in  this  field  of  duty,  he 
is  engaged  in  the  best  field  of  study.  His  work 
then  lies  nearest  the  heart ;  and  he  cannot  fail  to 
know  the  human  heart  more  accurately,  and  learn 
27 


314  THE     MISERABLE     HEART. 

how  to  apply  the  powers  of  his  mind  and  the  truth 
of  (rod,  to  souls  ready  to  perish. 

It  is  of  vast  importance  to  gain  the  confidence 
and  affection  of  those,  whom  he  would  lead  t@ 
truth  and  salvation.  As  I  suppose,  this  young 
friend  never  would  have  opened  her  heart  to  me, 
had  I  not  knocked  at  its  door,  with  the  hand  of  the 
most  earnest  and  gentle  kindness.  I  certainly 
loved  her  ;  and  she  certainly  knew  it.  She  yield- 
ed to  love,  what  she  would  not  have  yielded  to 
mere  reason,  or  a  sense  of  duty ;  and  that,  which 
began  in  kindness  and  tenderness  of  affection,  end- 
ed in  that  peaoe  of  God,  which  passeth  under- 
standing. 

It  is  very  unhappy  for  us,  that  we  have  such  a 
reluctance  to  disclose  our  religious  feelings.  The 
disclosure  would  often  put  us  upon  the  track  of  a 
divine  benefit.  Convictions  are  often  stifled,  by 
not  being  confessed.  Anxious  singers  would  al- 
ways do  well,  to  be  more  free  to  tell  their  troubles, 
to  some  Christian  minister  or  friend.  There  is  or- 
dinarily either  some  great  error,  or  some  dangerous 
sin  lingering  around  the  mind,  that  sensitively 
seeks  concealment.  The  communion  of  saints  is  a 
privilege.  It  is  one  way  to  attain  communion 
with  Grod. 


UNCONDITIONAL    SUBMISSION. 


One  of  the  most  distressing  instances  of  anxiety 
about  salvation,  that  I  have  ever  known,  was  that 
of  a  married  woman  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and 
of  excellent  character,  as  a  wife,  and  mother,  and 
neighbor.  Her  energy  of  character  was  her  most 
remarkable  trait.  Her  decision,  penetration,  and 
quickness  were  uncommon.  She  had  had  a  reli- 
gious education,  and  was  now  surrounded  with  reli- 
gious influences.  Most  of  her  relatives  and  ac- 
quaintances were  communicants  in  the  church. 
Her  husband  had  lately  become  a  pious  man. 

She  became  concerned  for  her  salvation  ;  and 
seemed  to  me  to  have  a  peculiarly  deep  sense  of 
her  sins.  She  often  expressed  to  me  her  wonder 
and  astonishment,  that  (rod  had  not  cut  her  down 
in  her  carelessness.  She  thought  that  her  heart 
was  more  obstinate,  than  the  heart  of  any  other 
sinner  could  be.  She  was  fully  sensible  of  its  en- 
mity against  God ;  and  appeared  to  be  fully  de- 


316  UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION. 

termined  to  seek  the  Lord  with  all  her  heart.  I 
thought,  from  this  and  from  her  ordinary  decision 
of  character,  that  she  would  soon  find  peace  with 
God. 

But,  month  after  month,  she  lingered.  At 
times,  her  distress  of  mind  was  inconceivably 
great.  Many  times  I  conversed  with  her,  and  in 
every  possible  way  aimed  to  teach  her  the  way  of 
life.  "With  all  the  ingenuity  I  could  muster,  I 
aimed  to  fiud  out  what  was  her  hindrance,  but  I 
tried  in  vain.  In  her  Bible  I  marked  those  pas- 
sages, which  I  hoped  would  benefit  her.  She 
studied  them  intensely.  She  prayed  daily  and 
with  agony.  But  yet  she  attained  no  hope  in 
Christ,  no  peace  with  God  or  with  herself. 

I  expected,  that  the  hopeful  conversion  of  her 
husband,  whose  exercises  of  mind  had  very  much 
resembled  her  own,  would  have  a  beneficial  influ- 
ence upon  her  mind.  But  when  he  told  her  of  his 
hope  and  peace,  and  exhorted  her  to  flee  to  Christ ; 
she  expressed  her  gladness,  that  he  had  become  a 
Christian,  but  her  own  mind  did  not  appear  to  be 
in  the  least  altered. 

She  conversed  with  me  apparently  with  entire 
freedom,  told  me  all  her  heart,  and  begged  to  be 
told  what  she  should  do.  All  I  could  say  to  her 
appeared  to  be  of  no  avail.  Her  mind  continued  as 
dark  and  distressed  as  ever.  And  this  appeared 
the  more  strange  to  me,  because,  within  a  quarter 


UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION.  317 

of  a  mile  of  her  house,  there  had  been  at  least 
twenty  hopeful  conversions  to  Christ,  after  she  be- 
gan to  strive  for  salvation ;  and  she  enjoyed  pre- 
cisely the  same  means  and  opportunities  as  they. 

As  week  passed  after  week  in  this  manner,  I 
expected  her  anxieties  would  diminish,  and  the 
Holy  Spirit  would  depart  from  her.  But  her  se- 
riousness continued,  and  her  determination  to  per- 
severe in  her  attempt.  After  I  had  exhausted  all 
my  skill  to  do  her  good ;  fearing  that  I  might  have 
done  her  injury,  I  left  her  entirely  alone  for  some 
weeks,  not  calling  on  her  as  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  do,  not  saying  to  her  a  single  word  about  her  re- 
ligious condition.  Still  she  continued  in  the  same 
way.  At  one  time,  I  requested  some  other  per- 
sons to  converse  with  her,  which  they  did,  but  ap- 
parently in  vain. 

At  length  she  became  almost  frantic  with  anxi- 
ety. Her  distress  seemed  intolerable  ;  and  I  seri- 
ously feared,  that  her  reason  would  give  way,  and 
leave  her  to  a  maniac's  gloom.  She  now  began  to 
despond.  Salvation  appeared  an  unattainable 
good  to  her ;  and  the  strange  expressions  of  her 
despair,  (a  despair  which  I  could  no  longer  alle- 
viate with  the  promises  and  invitations  of  Christ,) 
were  enough  to  make  any  heart  bleed.  I  knew  her 
endure  the  most  horrid  temptations,  time  after 
time — temptations,  which  I  may  not  describe. 


2V 


318  UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION. 

I  was  now  in  the  habit  of  calling  upon  her  al- 
most every  day,  as  she  desired.  I  parted  with 
her  one  day  in  the  afternoon,  leaving  her  in  much 
the  same  gloom  and  despair  as  she  had  endured 
for  some  weeks.  On  entering  her  house  the  next 
morning,  I  was  struck  with  her  altered  appear- 
ance ;  and  the  first  thought  I  had  was,  that  her 
reason  had  fled.  She  appeared  quite  as  solemn  as 
ever  ;  but  there  was  a  composure  about  her  look, 
— a  sort  of  fixedness  and  quietness  of  firm  deter- 
mination which  I  had  never  seen  before.  As  I 
spoke  to  her,  she  answered  me  in  few  words,  but 
quite  rationally  and  calmly.  There  was  no  in- 
sanity there.  I  drew  her  into  some  conversation. 
She  was  rather  more  reserved  than  common,  I 
thought ;  but  evidently  her  distress  of  mind  was 
diminished.  She  had  no  hope  in  Christ,  she  said, 
and  never  expected  to  have  any.  "Peace  with 
G-od,"  says  she,  "  I  know  nothing  about ;  but  I 
have  done  ruarrelling  with  him."  This  expres- 
sion led  me  to  suppose,  that  she  had  come  to 
the  determination  to  dismiss  religion  from  her 
thoughts.  But  in  a  moment  afterwards,  replying 
to  an  expression  I  had  made,  she  said:  "  I  mean 
to  do  all  my  duty."  I  could  not  understand  her. 
And  after  some  half  hour's  conversation,  still  as 
much  in  the  dark  as  ever,  I  said  to  her : — "  You 

seem  to  me,  Mrs.  S ,  to  be,  after  all,  in  a  very 

different  state  of  mind  from  what  you  were  yes- 


UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION.  319 

terday.  How  is  it?  what  has  brought  you  to 
this  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  sir,"  said  she,  (with  a  deep 
solemnity,  and  a  kind  of  awfulness  in  look  and 
manner,  which  I  have  never  seen  equalled  ;) 
"  after  you  left  me  yesterday, — and  I  had  been 
praying  to  God,  and  thinking  for  how  long  a  time 
the  Holy  Spirit  had  been  striving  with  me,  I  came 
to  the  conclusion,  that  I  could  do  nothing,  and 
that  there  is  no  salvation  for  me  !  But  I  knew  I 
was  justly  condemned.  And  I  resolved  to  serve 
God  as  long  as  I  live ;  to  pray  to  him  to  help  me 
do  it ;  and  resolved  to  live  the  rest  of  my  life 
for  the  glory  of  Christ,  and  commend  him  to  oth- 
ers. I  determined  to  do  all  my  religious  duties  as 
well  as  I  can,  to  the  end  of  my  life  ;  and  go  to 
hell  at  last,  as  I  deserve  !" 

"  You  will  find  it  hard  work,"  said  I,  "to 
get  to  hell  in  that  way ;"  and  immediately  left 
her. 

She  now  had  no  hope.  I  did  not  deem  it  my 
duty  to  give  her  any  hope.  And  it  was  more 
than  a  week  after  this,  before  it  ever  entered  into 
her  thoughts,  that  ^he  was  reconciled  to  God. 
All  this  time  she  was  calm,  solemn,  prayerful, 
contented.  She  had  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
must  be  lost.  She  knew  it  would  be  just, — that 
God  would  do  rightly, — and  she  was  willing  that 
he  should  reign.     She  determined  to  serve  him  till 


320  UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION. 

death, — to  do  all  the  good  she  could  to  others ; 
and  "go  to  hell  at  last." 

But  in  a  few  days  it  struck  her  mind,  that  she 
was  satisfied  with  God  ;  that  she  no  longer  felt 
any  enmity  against  him  or  his  law ;  that,  in  fact, 
she  loved  him,  his  law,  and  his  Christ.  She  then 
began  to  question  whether  this  was  not  religion, 
after  all ;  and  gradually  her  mind  was  led  to  hope. 
She  afterwards  made  a  public  profession  of  re- 
ligion, and  lived  as  one  of  the  most  determined 
Christians  in  the  world. 

In  those  gloomy  months  before  she  found  rest, 
she  was  manifestly  aiming,  with  a  firmness  and 
decision  perfectly  agreeing  with  her  character, 
just  to  save  herself  ;  that  is,  to  become  a  Chris- 
tian by  the  power  of  her  own  will.  And  when 
she  found  it  impossible,  she  as  decidedly  despair- 
ed. And  then,  as  decidedly  gave  up  all  to  God  ; 
— "I  found  I  could  do  nothing  more."  Grod  saved 
her,  just  when  she  ceased  relying  upon  herself. 
True  converts  are  born,  "  not  of  blood,  nor  of  the 
will  of  the  flesh,  nor  of  the  will  of  man,  but  of 
God." 


There  may  be  more  truth  in  the  idea  which 
some  of  the  old  Hopkinsians  intended  to  express 
by   "  unconditional    submission,"   than    many    of 


UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION.  321 

their  modern  revilers  suppose.  Jt  certainly  is  not 
needful,  that  when  a  sinner'  flings  down  the 
weapons  of  his  rebellion  and  becomes  reconciled  to 
Grod,  he  should  be  without  hope  ;  for  as  soon  as 
he  does  this,  he  has  a  promise  of  Grod  to  rest  upon. 
But  it  certainly  appears  to  be  true,  that  at  that 
time  he  is  not,  in  every  case,  really  relying  upon 
it  at  all.  He  is  exercising  submission, — not 
faith.  Or,  if  he  is  exercising  faith  at  all,  he  may 
not  be  conscious  of  it,  and  therefore,  may  have 
only  half  the  comforts  of  it.  And  it  is  quite  con- 
ceivable, that  one  may  have  such  a  sense  of  sin 
and  unworthiness,  as  to  exclude  all  expectation  of 
eternal  life  ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  he  is  really 
"  reconciled  to  G-od."  He  has,  in  such  a  case,  ex- 
ercised submission,  a  gracious  submission  to  G-od  ; 
and  therefore,  his  agitations  and  torments  of  mind 
have  ceased  ;  but  his  faith  has  not  yet  been 
brought  into  lively  and  conscious  exercise  ;  and 
therefore,  he  has  no  hope.  This  would  seem  to  be 
"unconditional  submission,"  a  "giving  up  of  all 
to  G-od."  In  this  state  of  mind  he  certainly  can- 
not be  said  to  "  be  willing  to  be  damned  ;"  but  it 
can  be  said  of  him,  that  he  does  not  expect  to  be 
saved. 

It  may  not  be  possible  for  human  science  and 
skill,  to  analyze  conversion  to  Christ.  The  gospel 
has  probably  made  the  matter  more  plain,  than 
anything  else  will  ever  make  it.     And  there  are 


322  UNCONDITIONAL     SUBMISSION. 

not  a  few  things  in  the  gospel,  which  appear  to  place 
a  surrendry  before  faith — yielding  before  trusting. 
A  poor  Indian,  of  whom  I  once  had  some  knowl- 
edge, who  had  been  a  very  wicked  man,  but  who 
became  hopefully  pious,  was  desired  to  give  some 
account  of  his  conversion — to  tell  how  it  was,  that 
he  had  been  led  to  his  hope  in  Christ.  He  de- 
scribed it  in  this  way,  taking  his  figures  from  his 
way  of  life,  as  he  had  been  accustomed  to  chase 
the  deer  and  the  bear,  over  mountains  and  through 
morasses: — Said  he:  "I  was  in  the  mud.  I  tried 
to  get  out;  and  I  could  not.  I  tried  the  harder; 
and  the  harder  I  tried,  the  faster  I  sunk.  I  found 
I  must  put  forth  all  my  strength;  but  I  went 
down  deeper,  and  deeper,  and  deeper.  I  found  I 
was  going  all  over  in  the  mire  ; — I  gave  the  death- 
yell,  and  found  myself  in  the  arms  of  Jesus 
Christ."  When  he  abandoned  all  attempt  to  save 
himself,  Jesus  Christ  saved  him.  This  was  all  he 
knew  about  it.  And  more,  this  was  all  there  was 
about  it.  "Let  me  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
Lord,  for  his  mercies  are  great."  This  verily 
seems  like  "  unconditional  submission." — But  there 
is  too  much  metaphysics  in  that  phrase,  for  the 
work  of  hearts.  Affection,  like  faith,  is  seldom 
metaphysical.  Its  depth  lies  in  its  simplicity.  All 
speculation,  which  does  not  bring  round  the  mat- 
ter just  to  that  spot,  is  useless  for  all  heart  pur- 
poses, therefore  for  a\\  faith  purposes. 


THE  UNPARDONABLE  SIN. 


During  the  whole  of  one  summer,  a  young 
woman  of  respectable  family  and  of  religious  edu- 
cation was  accustomed  to  send  for  me,  from  time 
to  time,  for  religious  conversation.  She  had  no 
hope,  and  her  mind  was  uniformly  gloomy.  She 
appeared  peculiarly  desponding.  Time  after  time, 
as  I  visited  her;  I  endeavored,  as  plainly  as  possi- 
ble, to  unfold  the  divine  promises,  and  the  fullness 
of  Christ  to  meet  all  the  possible  wants  of  sinners, 
who  will  believe  in  him.  Still  she  remained,  as 
sad  and  downcast  as  ever.  Her  most  common 
topic,  was  the  magnitude  of  her  sins  ;  she  was 
such  a  sinner,  that  there  was  no  mercy  for  her. 
Repeatedly  I  showed  the  error  of  this  notion,  by 
the  clear  declarations  of  the  Bible,  and  by  the  na- 
ture of  salvation  procured  by  the  great  Saviour  ; 
and  most  urgently  pressed  upon  her  the  instant 
duty  of  hearing  the  gospel  call,  to  repent  and  trust 
in  Jesus  Christ,  while  the  Holy  Spirit  was  striving 


U 


324  THE     UNPARDONABLE     SIN. 

with  her.  I  assured  her,  that  no  sinner  need  be 
lost,  because  his  sins  are  so  great,  since  "  the  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin  ;"  and  if  a 
sinner  perishes,  he  must  perish,  because  he  does 
not  re-pent  and  believe,  not  because  the  merit  of 
Christ  is  insufficient  to  reach  the  extent  of  his 
guilt,  and  not  because  Christ  is  not  freely  offered 
to  him,  in  the  full  sincerity  and  full  friendliness  of 
God. 

One  day,  as  I  was  urging  this  point,  and  en- 
treating her  to  be  reconciled  to  God,  yielding  her 
heart  to  the  persuasions  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  she 
said  to  me  : — 

"  I  believe  I  have  committed  the  unpardonable 
sin !" 

"  "What  makes  you  think  so  ?"  said  I. 

"  "Why — I  feel  so,"  said  she,  hesitatingly. 

"  What  makes  you  feel  so  ?" 

M  The  Lord  would  have  forgiven  me  before  this 
time  j  if  there  was  any  forgiveness  for  me." 

' '  He  will  forgive  you  now,  if  you  will  repent  of 
sin  and  trust  in  the  redemption  of  Christ." 

"No!"  said  she,  "I  have  committed  the  un- 
pardonable sin !  There  is  no  forgiveness  for  me  !" 
She  wept  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Said  I,  "  How  long  have  you  been  thinking,  that 
you  have  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  ?" 

"  I  have  known  it  a  long  time." 

"  What  is  the  unpardonable  sin  ?" 


THE     UNPARDONABLE     SIN.  325 


"  The  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  which  hath 
never  forgiveness  in  this  world,  nor  in  the  world  to 


"  What  is  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost  ?" 

After  much  hesitation,  she  replied,  "It  is  the 
sin  that  Jesus  Christ  mentioned — speaking  against 
the  Holy  Ghost." 

"  Have  you  been  speaking  against  the  Holy 
Ghost  ?" 

"  Oh,  no !  I  have  not  done  that,"  said  she. 

"  What  then  do  you  mean  ?  What  is  your  un- 
pardonable sin  ?" 

She  gave  no  answer,  and  I  continued  to  ask, 
"When  did  you  commit  this  unpardonable  sin ?" 
She  said  nothing.  "  Tell  me  what  it  is."  She 
said  nothing.  "  How  came  you  to  commit  it  ?" 
She  said  nothing.  "  What  makes  you  think  you 
have  committed  it  ?" 

"  God  would  have  forgiven  me,  before  this  time, 
if  I  had  not  committed  it?" 

"  Before  this  time  ?     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why,  I  have  been  a  great  while  seeking  re- 
ligion." 

"  And  because  you  have  been  so  long  seeking  it, 
you  think  it  is  no  present  fault  of  yours,  that  you 
have  not  found  it ;  but  God  will  not  forgive  you, 
because,  months  ago,  you  committed  the  unpar- 
donable sin  ?  is  that  what  you  mean  ? 

"  Yes,  sir." 

28 


326  THE     UNPARDONABLE     SIN. 

"Very  well,"  said  I,  "I  suppose  you  want 
nothing  more  of  me,  if  you  are  unpardonable.  I 
can  do  nothing  for  you,  if  that  is  the  case.  I  may 
as  well  leave  you.  You  may  go  to  your  closet, 
and  tell  God  as  you  kneel  before  him,  that  you  are 
willing  to  repent ;  that  you  are  willing  to  trust  in 
Christ,  and  willing  to  obey  Grod  in  all  things ;  and 
that  it  is  no  fault  of  yours,  that  you  are  not  a 
Christian.  Tell  him,  that  the  only  thing,  now  in 
the  way  of  your  salvation,  is  that  old  unpardon- 
able sin,  which  he  will  not  forgive.     Grood-bye." 

I  left  her  at  once.  The  next  day,  she  sent  for 
me  again.  I  found  her,  as  I  did  not  expect,  in  the 
same  state  of  mind,  brooding  sadly  over  the  un- 
pardonable sin.  After  much  conversation,  and 
aiming  to  remove  the  difficulty,  and  assuring  her 
of  her  error  ;  she  still  insisted,  "  I  have  committed 
the  unpardonable  sin — I  know  I  have — I  know  I 
have — I  know  I  have." 

I  desired  her,  after  a  few  moments,  to  quiet  her 
agitation,  and  fix  her  thoughts  on  the  things  which 
I  was  going  to  say  to  her.  Said  I,  "I  shall  speak 
very  plainly.  You  will  understand  every  word  of 
it.  Some  of  the  things  which  I  shall  say,  may 
surprise  you  ;  but  I  want  you  to  remember  them. 
All  along  through  the  summer,  I  have  treated  you 
with  the  utmost  kindness  and  indulgence.  I  have 
always  come  to  you,  when  you  have  sent  for  me, 
and  many  times  when  you  have  not.     And  it  is, 


THE     UNPARDONABLE     SIN.  327 

because  1  feel  kindly  towards  you  still,  and  wish 
to  do  you  goqd,  that  I  shall  now  say  some  very  plain 
things,  which  you  may  not  like  ;  but  they  are  true. 

"  First.  Yo%  say  you  have  committed  'the  unpar- 
donable sin  ;'  but  ^ou  do  not  believe  what  you  say. 
You  believe  no  such  thing.  You  know,  indeed, 
that  you  are  a.  sinner ;  but  you  do  not  believe,  that 
you  have  committed  *  the  unpardonable  sin.'  You 
are  not  honest,  not  sincere,  when  you  say  so.  You 
do  not  believe  it. 

"  Second.  It  is  pride,  a  foolish  pride  of  a  wicked 
heart,  which  makes  you  say,  that  you  have  com- 
mitted '  the  urmardonable  sin.'  Influenced  by 
pride  you  half  strive,  (only  half,  after  all,)  to  be- 
lieve you  have  done  it.  You  wish  to  exalt  your- 
self. You  pretend,  that  it  is  some  great  and  un- 
common thing,  which  keeps  you  from  being  a 
Christian.  It  is  the  '  unpardonable  sin.' — Pride 
lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  this. 

"  Third.  You  have  no  occasion  for  this  pride. 
There  is  nothing  very  uncommon  about  you.  You 
are  very  much  like  other  sinners.  It  is  not  likely, 
that  you  could  commit  '  the  unpardonable  sin,'  if 
you  should  try.  I  do  not  think  you  know  enough 
to  do  it." 

"  Why  ?"  said  she,  "  is  there  not  such  a  sin  ?" 

"  Yes.  But  you  don't  know  what  it  is.  And  you 
lon't  know  enough  to  commit  it. 

"  Fourth.  You  are  one  of  the  most  self-righteous 


328  THE     UNPARDONABLE     SIN 

creatures  I  ever  saw.  You  try  to  think,  that  you 
are  not  so  much  to  blame  for  your  irr^ligion — that 
you  are  willing  to  be  a  Christian, \  and  would  be 
one,  if  it  were  not  for  that  '  unpardonable  sin,' 
which  you  try,  in  your  pride,  to,  believe  you  have 
committed.  You  pretend,  that  it  is  not  your  pres- 
ent and  cherished  sin,  which  keeps  you  in  your 
impenitence.  Oh,  you  are  good  enough,  surely,  to 
repent,  you  would  repent,  indeed  you  would,  if  it 
were  not  for  that  '  unpardonable  sin.' — That  is 
your  heart :  self-righteousness  and  pride. 

"Fifth.  Your  wicked  heart  clings  to  this  idea  of 
the  '  unpardonable  sin,'  as  an  exffbse  for  your  con- 
tinued impenitence,  for  your  living  in  the  indul- 
gence of  sin,  unbelief  and  disobedience  to  Grod, 
every  day.  Your  excuse  will  not  stand.  You 
make  it  insincerely.  It  is  not  '  the  unpardonable 
sin,'  which  hinders  your  being  a  Christian ;  but 
your  wickedness  of  heart,  your  pride,  vanity,  and 
insincerity.  I  shall  never  again  have  anything  to 
say  to  you,  about  '  the  unpardonable  sin.'  If  you 
had  any  real  and  just  conviction  of  sin,  you  would 
never  name  '  the  unpardonable  sin.'  " 

Some  months  after  this,  she  called  upon  me  in 
deep  trouble.  But  now,  her  complaint  was,  that 
she  had  a  wicked,  deceitful,  and  hard  heart,  op- 
posed to  the  law  of  Grod.  She  became,  finally,  as 
she  believed,  a  true  penitent,  and  professed  her  re- 
ligion publicly.     But  in  all  her  religious  exercises, 


THE     UNPARDONABLE     SIN.  329 

there    appeared   nothing   very   peculiar,    and   she 
never  named  to  me  '  the  unpardonable  sin.' 


True  light  in  the  conscience  is  one  thing  j  and  a 
deceitful  gloom  in  the  proud  heart  is  quite  an- 
other. When  a  sinner  has  any  just  sense  of  his 
condition,  as  alienated  from  a  holy  (rod ;  he  will 
not  be  apt  to  think  of  the  unpardonable  sin.  Spu- 
rious conviction  is  common,  but  useless. 

28* 


ELECTION. 


At  the  close  of  the  service  on  the  Sabbath, 
I  gave  an  invitation,  as  I  have  frequently  done,  to 
any  persons  not  members  of  the  church,  who  were 
seriously  disposed  to  attend  to  religion,  to  call  and 
see  me  at  my  own  house,  at  an  appointed  hour. 
In  giving  the  notice,  I  explained  briefly  the 
reasons  for  the  invitation ;  and  besought  those 
who  were  yet  without  hope,  to  give  their  instant 
and  earnest  attention  to  this  momentous  subject. 
Among  other  things,  I  stated,  as  one  of  the  rea- 
sons for  this  invitation,  that  difficulties  which  oc- 
cur to  some  minds  on  the  subjects  embraced  in  re- 
ligion, could  often  be  more  happily  removed  in 
conversation,  than  in  any  other  way.  At  the  time 
appointed,  and  on  the  evening  to  which  I  now 
allude,  a  young  man,  about  twenty-three  years  of 
age,  called  upon  me.  Adverting  to  my  invitation, 
he  directly  told  me  his  design  in  coming.  He 
said,  that  his  mind  had  been  occupied  with  the 


ELECTION.  331 

subject  of  religion  for  several  months ;  that  he 
had  felt  much  dissatisfied  with  himself, — with  his 
own  course  of  worldliness ;  that  he  was  fully  con- 
vinced of  the  necessity  of  religion ;  that  he  had 
come  to  a  determination  to  put  off  the  duty  no 
longer.  But  he  had  met  with  difficulties  which 
he  "  could  not  get  over."  The  more  he  had  tried, 
the  more  his  thoughts  had  become  perplexed  ;  and 
though  he  had  made  up  his  mind  on  some  points, 
yet  on  some  others  he  was  troubled  and  dissatis- 
fied. "  I  thought,"  said  he,  "  I  would  accept  the 
invitation  you  gave  us  to-day,  though  I  have  not 
much  expectation  of  being  satisfied  about  many 
things  which  come  up." — He  seemed  disposed  to 
talk,  and  I  did  not  think  best  to  interrupt  him. 
He  went  on  to  say,  that  some  doctrines  troubled 
him,  and  he  could  never  agree  with  me  in  respect 
to  them.  He  must  have  his  own  way  of  think- 
ing, and  had  a  right  to  it.  "  Yes,"  said  I,  "if 
you  think  righ1 ;  but  you  have  no  business  to 
think  wrong.  If  a  man  thinks  wrong,  he  is 
wrong ;  and  no  man  can  have  a  right  to  be  wrong, 
if  it  is  his  own  way.  (rod  calls  on  the  unright- 
eous to  forsake  their  thoughts.  Their  thoughts 
are  wrong ;  and  he  tells  them  they  are  not  like 
his." 

"  I  know  that,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I  mean  my  way 
of  thinking  about  predestination,  and  all  those 
doctrines  that  are  so  hard  to  swallow,  and  that 


332  ELECTION. 

make  a  man  unable  to  do  anything, — nothing  but 
a  mere  machine.  I  do  not  believe  in  election,  and 
foreordination,  as  it  is  called.  Such  things  have 
done  me  no  good  ;  and  in  my  opinion,  never  will  do 
me  any.  They  only  confuse  me  for  nothing  ;  and 
for  my  part,  I  do  not  believe  them  I  wish  minis- 
ters never  would  preach  them.  I  cannot  see  how 
anybody  can  attempt  to  do  anything  to  try  to  be  a 
Christian,  if  he  believes  in  such  things  as  election. 
Such  a  doctrine  takes  away  a  man's  power,  and 
then  condemns  him  for  not  using  it." 

In  this  manner  he  continued  to  talk  for  some 
minutes,  till  he  appeared  to  have  no  more  to  say. 
There  was  no  appearance  of  any  deep  seriousness 
about  him.  He  did  not  seem  to  me  to  have  any 
very  special  concern  about  his  condition,  as  a  sin- 
ner needing  forgiveness  of  Grod.  Evidently  he 
was  annoyed  and  perplexed  ;  but  he  had  not  said 
a  word  about  his  being  a  sinner  against  Grod,  or 
in  danger  of  his  wrath,  or  unfit  to  meet  him  in 
judgment,  or  his  need  of  any  reconciliation  to 
him.  Some  of  his  expressions  reminded  me  of  an 
anonymous  letter  which  I  had  received  a  few 
weeks  before,  complaining  of  my  having  preached 
several  times  within  a  few  months,  on  the  doc- 
trine of  election ;  and  containing  some  other  erro- 
neous statements.  But  I  did  not  tell  him  so.  I 
made  no  mention  of  the  letter.  But  recollecting 
its  contents,  I  felt  more  sure  that  I  understood  his 


ELECTION.  333 

state  of  mind,  by  reason  of  that  epistle  ;  and  felt 
that  I  had  an  advantage  of  him,  of  which  he  was 
not  conscious.  After  he  had  said  all  that  he 
seemed  disposed  to  say,  I  inquired  of  him,  "  How 
'ong  a  time  is  it  since  you  began  to  be  attentive 
md  prayerful  on  the  subject  of  religion  ?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  it,  for  four  or  five 
*nonths." 

M  What  was  it,  that  first  turned  your  attention 
ij  this  subject  ?" 

u  It  was  a  sermon,  which  you  preached  on  pre- 
destination." 

"  Then  there  may  be  some  use  in  such  preach- 
ing, after  all,  if  it  leads  people  to  attend  to  their 
salvation." 

He  appeared  much  confused  at  this  answer,  and 
remained  silent  for  a  moment,  as  if  he  knew  not 
what  to  say.  But  seeming  to  recollect  himself,  he 
replied  :  "  Did  I  say  there  was  no  use  in  preaching 
about  predestination  ?" 

"  No  ;  I  believe  you  did  not  say  exactly  that ; 
something  near  it  however.  But  people  often 
have  said  it,  and  written  it ;  and  you  just  said, 
you  did  not  agree  with  me  in  some  doctrines,  and 
'  did  not  believe  in  the  hard  doctrines,  which  make 
a  man  unable  to  do  anything — nothing  but  a  mere 
machine.1  And  I  wished  to  know  what  it  was, 
that  first  turned  your  own  attention  to  religion.  I 
am  glad  to  find,  that  the  doctrine  of  predestina- 


334  ELECTION. 

tion  has  aroused  you,  after  all  other  kinds  of 
preaching  had  been,  for  so  many  years,  in  vain.  I 
shall  be  encouraged,  by  this  example,  to  preach  on 
the  subject  again." 

"  But  I  don't  believe  in  it,"  said  he,  (with  much 
emphasis.) 

"  Then  certainly,  it  need  not  trouble  you,  if  you 
do  not  believe  in  it;  and  we  will  drop  the  sub- 
ject. Have  you  been  praying'  to  Grod  to  forgive 
you  ?  do  you  pray  daily  ?" 

H  I  can't  say,  that  I  have  prayed  much.  But  I 
have  read  the  Bible,  and  thought  and  studied 
about  religion  a  great  deal." 

"  Have  you  prayed  to-day  ?" 

"  No  ;  not  to-day." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  be  saved  without  prayer  ?" 

"  No.     But  I  have  no  heart  to  pray." 

"  Indeed  !  Then  your  heart  needs  your  atten- 
tion, quite  as  much  as  the  doctrine  of  election. 
The  Bible  makes  prayer  a  duty ;  and  we  ought  to 
esteem  it,  as  a  great  privilege.  As  sinners,  we  do 
infinitely  need  Grod's  blessing ;  and  without  it,  all 
our  attempts  in  religion  will  be  ineffectual.  It 
is  no  matter  of  wonder,  that  you  are  not  recon- 
ciled to  Grod,  if  you  have  not  even  prayed  for  his 
grace  to  guide  you.  If  sinners  would  be  right, 
and  would  be  saved,  they  must  obey  God.  And 
his  requirement  is  plain  :  '  Seek  ye  the  Lord  while 
he  may  be  found ;  call  ye  upon  him  while  he  is 


ELECTION.  335 

near.'  You  must  call  upon  him,  you  must  pray, 
if  you  would  have  any  ground  at  all  for  expecting 
his  favor." 

"  But  the  prayers  of  the  wicked  are  an  abomi- 
nation to  the  Lord,"  said  he. 

"  That,"  said  I,  "  is  your  own  declaration.  Grod 
has  not  said  so.  Such  a  declaration  is  not  to  be 
found  in  the  Bible,  as  people  often  suppose ; 
though  there  may  be  some  expressions,  which  ap- 
pear to  resemble  it.  The  ordinary  complaint  of 
the  Bible  against  sinners,  is  not,  that  they  pray 
with  bad  hearts,  but  that  they  do  not  pray  at  all, 
or  seldom.  They  are  said  to  '  cast  off  fear  and  re- 
strain prayer.'  It  may  be  a  sin  in  you  to  pray, 
with  such  a  heart  as  you  have ;  but  it  is  a  worse 
sin,  if  you  neglect  prayer.  The  Bible  commands 
you  to  pray  ;  and  if  you  try  to  obey  it,  manifestly 
you  are  not  quite  so  wicked,  as  if  you  do  not  try 
at  all.  The  command  stands  in  the  Bible,  and 
will  stand  there.  Your  want  of  a  good  heart  does 
not  repeal  it,  nor  does  it  excuse  your  disobedience. 
Moreover,  you  need  God's  aid  for  attaining  a  bet- 
ter heart ;  and  certainly  you  have  more  reason  to 
expect  that  aid,  if  you  ask  for  it,  than  if  you  do 
not  ask  at  all.  '  Ask  and  ye  shall  receive.  Seek 
and  ye  shall  find.  Knock  and  it  shall  be  opened 
unto  you.'  If  sinners  would  be  saved,  they  must 
consent  to  follow  Grod's  directions.  You  put  your 
wisdom  in  the  place  of  Grod's  wisdom.     His  wis- 


336 


ELECTION. 


dom  directs  you  to  pray.  Your  wickedness  re- 
fuses to  pray.  And  then,  your  deceitful  heart 
weaves  an  excuse  for  neglecting  prayer,  out  of  the 
badness  of  your  heart,  out  of  the  very  thing, 
which  constitutes  the  strongest  of  all  possible  rea- 
sons why  you  should  pray.  Your  having  a  wicked 
heart,  instead  of  being  a  reason  for  not  praying,  is 
the  very  reason  why  you  should  pray  the  more 
earnestly.  Besides,  your  excuse  is  itself  the  off- 
spring of  self-righteousness  and  pride.  You  wish 
to  be  heard,  because  of  your  praying  so  well, — 
with  such  a  good  heart.  You  are  too  proud  and 
self-righteous,  to  think  of  being  heard,  when  there 
is  nothing  in  you  to  deserve  a  hearing.  You  want 
to  make  a  merit  of  your  prayers.  A  sinner  must 
be  more  obedient  and  humble  than  this.  At  least, 
you  must  try  to  obey  God,  as  you  are  not  trying 
now.  I  do  not  say,  that  you  ought  to  pray  with 
an  impenitent  heart ;  but  I  say,  if  you  have  an  im- 
penitent heart,  you  ought  to  pray,  and  the  rather 
on  that  account.  One  sin  must  not  be  offered  to 
excuse  another.  And  I  say  farther,  that  you  have 
no  prospect  at  all,  of  having  a  better  heart,  if  you 
will  not  pray.  Besides,  you  are  inverting  the 
order  of  the  Bible  and  of  common  sense.  You 
wish  to  receive  the  gift  of  a  good  heart  first ;  and 
then,  you  will  consent  to  ask  for  it.  The  Bible 
expects  you  to  ask  first.  You  wait  to  have  a  good 
heart  first,  and  then  you  intend  to  pray  for  a  good 


ELECTION.  337 

heart !  Strange  inconsistency  of  a  sinner's  mind  ! 
A  little  more  simplicity  of  obedience,  and  a  little 
less  of  such  proud  and  self-righteous  and  foolish 
speculation,  would  be  far  better! 

"  With  respect  to  my  preaching  and  my  doc- 
trines;  no  matter  for  your  disagreeing  with  me. 
I  am  not  your  standard,  and  certainly  you  are  not 
mine.  I  ask  nobody  to  think  as  I  do.  I  only  ask 
everybody  to  agree  with  the  Bible.  If  I  do  not 
preach  the  gospel,  I  am  wrong ;  and  you  ought  to 
reject  all  that  I  say,  which  disagrees  with  the  word 
of  God.  No  matter  what  I  think.  Let  all  that 
go,  stick  to  the  Bible.  It  seems  very  strange,  that 
a  man  in  your  state  of  mind  should  mention  your 
disagreement  with  me,  while  at  the  same  moment, 
your  own  practice  so  much  disagrees  with  the 
word  of  God,  that  you  do  not  even  pray." 

He  appeared  scarcely  to  know  what  to  say  ;  but 
rallying  a  little,  he  replied  with  some  composure, 
"  I  believe  I  ought  to  pray ;  but  I  want  to  know 
the  truth  about  religion,  before  I  begin  in  it." 

"  You  do  know  the  truth  about  it,  my  dear  sir ; 
enough  to  know,  that  Grod  commands  you  to  pray, 
and  to  use  all  the  appointed  means  of  salvation. 
And  you  can  have  no  excuse  of  ignorance  on  that 
matter.  Moreover,  you  take  the  wrong  way  to 
learn  what  you  do  not  know.  The  Bible  way  is, 
"  if  ye  will  do  the  works,  ye  shall  know  of  the  doc- 
trine whether  it  be  of  God."     As  fast  and  as  far, 

29 


338  ELECTION. 

as  one  knows  the  truth,  he  ought  to  obey  it.  Th«.fc 
is  the  way  to  learn  other  truths.  And  that  is  just 
the  way,  in  which  every  sinnei  on  earth  must 
practice,  if  he  would  ever  gain  anything  in  religion. 
What  good  would  it  do  any  one  to  learn  more 
truth,  if  he  will  not  act  upon  the  truth,  which  he 
knows  already?  Such  acting  is  necessary,  indis- 
pensable, in  religion.  Truth  is  to  be  learnt  by  it, 
which  can  be  learnt  in  no  other  way.  The  lessons 
of  experience  are  the  best  lessons ;  and  many  times, 
what  is  to  be  learnt  in  that  way  only,  is  a  neces- 
sary pre-requisite  for  learning  even  intellectually 
the  things  which  lie  beyond.  You  wish  to  '  know 
all  the  truth  about  religion,  before  you  begin  in  it.' 
You  wish  for  an  impossibility.  Religion  concerns 
not  your  mind  only,  but  your  conscience,  your 
heart,  your  habits,  your  worldliness,  and  pride, 
and  vanity,  and  above  all,  your  self-righteousness. 
If  you  will  not  aim  to  lend  your  conscience  to  it 
obediently,  and  your  heart,  and  your  habits;  you 
might  as  well  think  to  understand  all  about  music 
without  your  ears,  or  all  about  beauty  without 
your  eyes,  or  all  about  sensibility  without  your 
heart.  You  never  will  understand  the  full  signifi- 
cance of  the  divine  precepts,  till  you  aim  to  obey 
them  ;  nor  the  full  meaning  of  divine  promises,  till 
you  take  them  for  your  own.  '  Taste,'  and  then 
you  will  i  see,  that  the  Lord  is  gracious.'  The 
practice  will  give  you  light ;  and  such  light  as  you 


ELECTION.  339 

cannot  spare,  when  you  are  aiming  to  understand 
other  lessons  beyond.  And  because  you  have  not 
been  trying  to  practice  the  truth,  which  you 
do  understand  ;  it  is  no  wonder,  that  your  mind 
has  become  the  more  perplexed,  as  you  said  a  little 
while  ago.  You  perceive  how  it  is.  You  have 
been  disobedient :  you  have  not  renounced  the 
world  ;  you  have  not  given  your  heart  to  Grod ; 
you  have  not  come  to  repentance ;  you  have  not 
fled  to  Christ,  to  save  you  from  the  condemnation 
of  (rod's  law.  And  therefore,  Grod  has  not  led  you 
out  of  perplexity  and  given  you  peace.  You  have 
studied  religion,  but  you  have  stuck  to  sin.  You 
know  you  are  a  sinner,  and  know  you  ought  to  re- 
pent and  flee  to  an  offered  Christ." 

"  But,"  said  he  ;  "  if  I  am  not  predestinated  to 
salvation,  all  my  trying  would  do  me  no  good." 

"  Indeed!  That  is  a  strange  thing  for  you  to 
say  !  You  just  told  me,  that  you  did  not  believe 
in  predestination  ;  and  I  have  been  trying  to  per- 
suade you  to  let  it  alone.  You  said,  you  must 
have  your  own  way  of  thinking ;  and  you  did  not 
believe  in  the  '  hard  doctrines,  which  make  a  man 
unable  to  do  anything — nothing  but  a  machine.' 
And  now,  when  I  am  trying  to  persuade  you  to  do 
something,  (just  what  God  bids  you,  and  what 
your  own  way  of  thinking  bids,)  you  very  strangely 
bring  up  the  doctrine  of  predestination,  as  an  ex- 
cuse for  your  disobedience !     You  say,  if  you  are 


340  ELECTION. 

not  predestinated,  your  trying  will  do  you  no 
good !" 

He  appeared  very  much  confused  and  ashamed. 
He  remained  entirely  silent ;  and  I  left  him  to  his 
silence  as  long  as  I  could  with  politeness.  I  then 
said  to  him  very  gently  and  kindly,  "It  is  man- 
ifest, my  dear  friend,  that  you  have  fixed  on  no 
system  of  belief  or  practice.  You  do  not  know 
whether  you  believe  in  predestination  or  not. 
Your  thoughts  are  perplexed  and  contradictory  ; 
and  I  am  very  glad  you  have  come  here  to-night. 
I  am  sorry  for  your  perplexity  ;  but  you  will 
come  out  of  it.  I  advise  you  to  let  the  doctrine 
of  predestination  alone  for  the  present,  if  you  can. 
You  have  more  important  duties  than  studying  it 
now.  If  your  mind  will  be  satisfied  to  leave  it 
entirely  for  the  present,  and  make  your  peace  with 
Grod,  you  will  be  far  more  wise.  I  hope  you  will 
dismiss  it  from  your  thoughts,  and  seek  God  with 
all  your  heart.  It  is  one  of  the  deep  mysteries 
of  Grod  ;  and  you  will  not  be  likely  to  find  your 
ideas  clear  upon  the  subject,  till  you  become  a 
sincere  penitent  for  sin. 

"  The  Bible  presents  this  doctrine  of  predestina- 
tion, as  I  think,  only  for  three  purposes.  First, 
to  teach  men  the  character  of  Grod,  his  grandeur, 
wisdom,  and  incomprehensibility ;  and  thus  lead 
them  to  render  to  him  the  homage  which  belongs 
to  him.     If  the  doctrine  is  deep  and  mysterious,  so 


ELECTION.  341 

is  God.  Whoever  believes  in  the  existence  of  God 
at  all,  believes  in  an  infinite  mystery.  And  since 
he  is  himself  such  a  mystery,  we  ought  to  expect 
mystery  in  his  plans  and  providence,  and  not  quar- 
rel where  we  ought  to  worship  and  bow  down  be- 
fore him,  filled  with  awe  at  his  amazing  grandeur. 
— The  second  purpose  is,  to  repress  the  audacity  of 
the  wicked.  God  would  have  the  wicked  know,  that 
they  cannot  outreach  him, — that  with  all  their  ma- 
lignity, they  cannot  even  sin  but  he  will  foil  them. 
'  He  maketh  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  him,  and 
the  remainder  of  that  wrath  he  will  restrain.' 
He  lets  them  know,  that  his  eternal  counsels  are 
deeper  than  their  malignity.  If  they  will  sin,  he 
leads  their  mind  back  behind  the  curtain  which 
veils  his  eternal  majesty,  and  lets  them  know,  that 
his  eternal  plans  are  not  to  be  thwarted  by  the 
wickedness  of  man,  or  malice  of  devils.  He  shows 
them,  that  God's  plans  encompass  them  as  with 
a  net ;  that  he  has  his  hook  in  their  nose,  and  his 
bridle  in  their  mouth  ;  and  if  they  will  sin,  their 
malice  will  be  foiled  ;  they  shall  not  sin  an  item 
but  God  will  overrule  it  all  for  his  glory ;  and  all 
their  disobedience  and  hardihood  shall  only  defeat 
their  own  purposes,  and  bring  just  judgment  on 
the  heads  of  the  willing  perpetrators.  You  have 
an  instance  of  this  solemn  and  instructive  use  of 
the  doctrine,  when  an  apostle  addresses  the  cruci- 
fiers  of  Christ :  '  Him  being  delivered  by  the  de- 

29* 


342  ELECTION. 

terminate  counsel  and  foreknowledge  of  God,  ye 
have  taken,  and  by  wicked  hands  have  crucified 
and  slain.'  Their  '  ivicked  hands'  could  only 
carry  out  his  '  determinate  counsel.'  The  counsel 
was  his, — the  wickedness  was  theirs.  This  doc- 
trine, shows  the  wicked  that  there  is  a  plan  which 
lies  back  of  their  wickedness, — that  they  cannot 
overreach  God,  that  they  are  hemmed  in  on  every 
side  by  the  plan  and  the  predestination  of  the 
Eternal  One. — The  third,  and  main  purpose  of 
this  doctrine  is,  (as  I  suppose,)  to  comfort  (rod's 
people.  The  grand  trial  of  a  life  of  religion  is  a 
trial  of  the  heart.  "We  have  sins,  we  have  weak- 
nesses and  temptations,  which  tend  to  a  dreadful 
discouragement.  Sin  easily  besets  us.  We  easily 
wander  from  God.  Holiness  is  an  up-hill  work. 
Our  feet  often  stagger  in  the  path  of  our  pilgrim- 
age, and  tears  of  bitterness  gush  from  our  eyes, 
lest  such  weak,  and  tempted,  and  erring  creatures 
should  never  reach  heaven.  Devils  tempt  us. 
The  world  presents  its  deceitful  allurements,  and 
more  deceitful  and  dangerous  claims.  What 
shall  cheer  us  when  our  heart  sinks  within  us  ? 
Whither  shall  we  fly  for  comfort,  when  our  hearts 
are  bleeding,  when  our  sins  are  so  many,  when 
our  gain  in  holiness  is  so  little,  when  our  light 
goes  out,  and  the  gloom  of  an  impenetrable  mid- 
night settles  down  upon  oar  poor  and  helpless 
soul  ?     We  cannot,  indeed,  mount  up  to  the  inner 


ELECTION.  343 

sanctuary  of  God,  open  the  seven-sealed  book,  and 
read  our  names  recorded  in  it  by  the  pen  of  the 
Eternal.  But  we  can  know,  that  such  a  book  is 
there  ;  and  that  the  pen  of  our  Father  has  filled 
it  with  his  eternal  decrees,  not  one  of  which  shall 
fail  of  accomplishment,  as  surely  as  his  own 
throne  shall  stand.  And  when  we  find  in  our- 
selves, amid  our  tearful  struggles,  even  the  feeble 
beginnings  of  holiness,  we  know  that  God  has 
commenced  his  work  for  us, — a  work  which  he 
planned  before  the  world  was  ;  and  that  he  who 
has  '  begun  a  good  work  in  us,  will  perform  it  until 
the  day  of  Jesus  Christ,'  carrying  into  effect  his 
eternal  plan.  Just  as  well  as  we  know  our  like- 
ness to  God,  we  know  our  election  of  God.  We 
know  that  our  holiness  is  his  work,  a  work  which 
he  purposed  from  the  beginning.  If  he  had  pur- 
posed it  but  just  as  he  begun  it, — if  it  was  a  work 
undertaken  from  some  recent  impulse,  then  we 
should  have  good  reason  to  fear,  that  some  other 
impulse  would  drive  him  to  abandon  it.  But 
when  we  know  it  forms  a  part  of  his  eternal 
counsels,  and  is  no  stdework,  no  episode,  no  inter- 
lude, or  sudden  interposition  not  before  provided 
for  ;  then  we  are  assured  that  God  is  not  going  to 
forsake  us ; — but  deep  as  is  our  home-bred  de- 
pravity, and  many  and  malignant  as  are  our  foes, 
we  are  cheered  with  the  assurance,  that  God  will 
bring  us  off  victorious,  and  '  the  purpose  according 


344  ELECTION. 

to  election  will  stand.'  We  love  to  see  our  salva- 
tion embraced  in  the  eternal  plan  of  God  ;  and 
we  know  it  is  embraced  there,  if  we  are  his  chil- 
dren by  faith  in  Christ  Jesus.  We  cannot  read 
his  secret  counsels ;  but  we  can  read  his  spiritual 
workings  within  us.  We  know  the  counsels  by 
the  evidence  of  the  workings :  and  then,  we  are 
cheered  and  encouraged  amid  our  trials,  by  the 
idea,  that  God  will  no  more  abandon  us,  than 
he  will  abandon  the  eternal  plan  which  his  wis- 
dom formed  before  the  foundation  of  the  world. 
'  Who  shall  lay  anything  to  the  charge  of  God's 
elect?'  He  had  their  names  in  his  book  before 
they  had  shed  a  tear,  before  a  devil  existed  to 
tempt  them. 

"If  you  examine  the  order  of  the  scriptures,  you 
will  find,  that  they  never  break  ground  with  pre- 
destination. Predestination  comes  in  afterwards. 
They  do  not  present  it  to  the  mind  of  a  sinner,  at 
the  outset.  Indeed,  they  seem  to  avoid  it.  And 
in  my  opinion,  a  sinner  should  avoid  it  also  ;  be- 
cause he  should  follow  the  manner  of  the  Bible  ; 
and  because  predestination  contains  nothing  in  it- 
self, which  can  interfere  with  the  plain  and  prac- 
tical duties  of  Christianity  ;  and  because,  if  he  will 
go  out  of  the  way  of  his  duty,  to  meddle  with  what 
God  intends  about  his  destiny,  he  will  be  very  apt 
to  stumble  in  his  first  starting,  and  never  take  one 
safe  or  satisfying  step,  in  the  pathway  of  a  true 


ELECTION.  345 

disoipleship.  See  how  the  order  of  truth  stands  in 
the  Epistle  to  the  Romans,  the  most  orderly,  me- 
thodical and  demonstrative,  of  all  the  sacred  wri- 
tings. Paul  goes  over  the  matters  of  sin,  the  fall, 
the  law,  the  covenant,  Christ,  repentance,  justifi- 
cation by  faith,  atonement,  holiness,  hope,  the 
Holy  Spirit,  depravity,  the  resurrection ;  and  after 
all  these,  and  not  till  he  gets  into  the  eighth  chap- 
ter, does  he  preach  the  doctrine  of  predestination. 
He  then  presents  it,  to  comfort  and  encourage  be- 
lievers, not  to  direct  unbelievers.  The  comfort  is 
simply  this  :  if  they  have  an  item  of  holiness,  they 
may  know,  that  their  names  are  in  Grod's  eternal 
book ;  that  he  has  begun  to  do  for  them  what  he 
purposed  to  do  from  all  eternity ;  and  they  are  just 
as  safe  as  he  is  unchangeable.  '  For  whom  he  did 
foreknow  he  also  did  predestinate  to  be  conformed 
to  the  image  of  his  Son.  Whom  he  did  predesti- 
nate, them  he  also  called ;  and  whom  he  called, 
them  he  also  justified;  and  whom  he  justified, 
them  he  also  glorified.'  Not  a  link  is  left  out. 
The  whole  chain  is  finished,  and  lifts  to  glory 
'  If  Grod  be  for  us,  who  can  be  against  us.'  Thus 
the  apostle  comforts  believers  by  leading  them  to 
know,  that  the  whole  matter  of  their  salvation  was 
a  matter  of  plan,  and  purpose,  and  provision,  be- 
fore they  were  born ; — that  it  is  not  an  affair, 
which  comes  in  amid  any  uncertainties  and  fluc- 
tuations  of  time  ;  but  stands  above  time,   as  it 


346  ELECTION. 

stood,  before  time  was,  in  (rod's  book ;  and  all  the 
agitations  of  worlds  and  all  the  sweep  of  centuries 
cannot  touch  it. — You  may  find  the  same  thing  in 
the  other  Epistles.  I  beg  you  to  notice,  how  uni- 
formly the  doctrine  of  predestination  is  recorded 
just  for  the  comfort  and  confirming  of  Christians 
— for  the  gladsome  cheering  of  way-worn  and 
struggling  believers,  trying  to  get  the  mastery  over 
sin.  It  is  not  preached  for  the  direction  of  impen- 
itent sinners.  I  beg  of  you,  therefore,  not  to 
meddle  with  (rod's  eternal  decrees." 

My  young  friend  listened  to  all  this  most  atten- 
tively. He  occasionally  asked  some  question,  not 
necessary  to  be  recorded  here ;  and  I  thought  he 
appeared  inclined  to  follow  my  advice.  When  I 
had  finished  all  that  I  wished  to  say,  he  replied  in 
a  pensive  and  half  musing  manner  :  "  Really  I  have 
got  a  strange  heart !  I  do  not  know  what  to  think. 
What  shall  I  do,  if  I  am  to  dismiss  Grod's  foreordi- 
nation  ?" 

Said  I,  "I  have  already  told  you.  You  ought 
to  obey  the  gospel,  '  deny  yourself,  take  up  your 
cross  and  follow  Christ ;'  seek  God,  and  serve  him 
with  all  your  heart.  It  is  the  call  of  the  gospel, 
which  is  addressed  to  impenitent  sinners.  Crod 
sends  to  them  a  message  of  peace  and  pardon  from 
heaven — an  offer  of  eternal  life  ;  and  lays  it  down, 
sealed  with  his  own  signet,  at  the  door  of  their 
hearts.     The  message  assures   them  of  the  good- 


ELECTION.  347 

will  of  Grod,  of  a  propitiation  for  sinners,  full  in  it- 
self and  freely  offered ;  and  bids  them  welcome  to 
all  they  can  want.  You  have  only  to  take  the 
message,  and  you  will  secure  the  favor — only  to 
agree  with  Grod,  on  the  Christ-conditions  which  he 
proposes ;  and  he  will  agree  with  you.  He  calls 
you  to  this  faith  in  the  blood  of  atonement :  and  if 
you  will  but  believe  him,  and  venture  your  soul, 
where  he  has  embarked  his  love  and  ventured  his 
honor  ;  you  have  the  pledge  of  all  the  truthfulness 
there  is  in  G-od,  that  you  shall  be  helped  on  to 
heaven.  The  Holy  Spirit  will  aid  you.  Divine 
wrath  will  never  reach  you.  A  child  of  Grod, 
adopted,  loved,  cherished  ;  you  shall  have  all  the 
securities  which  the  power  of  Grod  can  furnish,  and 
enjoy  the  smiles  which  he  bends  upon  his  children. 
To  this  call  of  the  gospel  you  ought  to  attend. 
This  is  your  duty.  You  may  mistake  the  decrees, 
but  you  cannot  mistake  the  duty.  If  the  counsel 
of  Grod  is  dark,  the  call  of  God  is  clear.  And  I 
hope,  therefore,  you  will  attend  to  the  call,  and 
not  meddle  with  the  counsel,  till  you  reach  the  fit 
time  for  considering  it.  If  you  can  do  so,  you  will 
be  the  happiest.  If  you  cannot,  if  your  foolish 
mind,  through  temptation,  will  keep  running  off 
into  predestination  ;  then,  go  into  the  subject  to 
your  sickening  over  it ;  and  till  you  have  found  by 
experience,  that  you  have  mistaken  your  begin- 
ning-spot.   And  remember,  after  all  your  attempts 


348  ELECTION. 

you  will  have  to  come  round  to  this  at  last.  As 
long  as  you  neglect  the  gospel  call,  and  attempt  to 
grapple  with  the  gospel  counsels,  you  will  only 
plunge  deeper  and  deeper  into  intricacies  you  can- 
not unravel.  Let  God  wield  his  own  thunder. 
You  have  only  to  hear  it,  and  tremble.  You  can- 
not employ  it.  It  was  not  made  for  an  arm  like 
yours.  Lay  aside  your  captiousness,  and  employ 
your  conscience.  Leave  the  decrees,  and  take  tc 
the  duties.  The  decrees  are  God's  rules  for  his 
own  action,  not  for  yours.  Let  me  hope,  when  I 
shall  see  you  again,  to  find  your  heart  fixed,  to  do 
as  God  bids  you  ;  and  to  let  Him  do  the  work, 
which  he  has  decreed  for  himself.  Just  be  wise 
enough,  to  mind  your  own  business,  and  let  God 
mind  his." 

He  left  me.  I  felt  confident,  that  he  would  fol- 
low my  advice.  The  next  Sabbath  evening,  he 
called  on  me  again.  There  were  about  ten  other 
persons  present.  I  conversed  with  each  one  for  a 
few  minutes,  commencing  with  the  one  most  dis- 
tant from  him,  in  order  that  he  might  be  influ- 
enced by  their  thoughts,  and  the  truths  of  God, 
which  I  should  utter  for  their  direction.  I  thought 
nothing  could  have  been  more  happily  adapted  to 
do  him  good,  than  what  was  said  by  some  of  these 
persons.  One  of  them  spoke  of  the  wonderful 
goodness  of  God  towards  him,  during  all  his  life ; 
and   mourned  that  he  had  himself   lone  nothing 


ELECTION.  349 

but  abuse  it,  ungratefully  forgetting  God.  He 
wondered  that  God  had  spared  him,  such  an  un- 
worthy sinner. — Another  one  said,  that  her  heart 
would  not  feel.  She  could  not  make  it  feel.  She 
had  tried,  but  though  she  knew  she  was  a  sinner, 
justly  condemned  by  the  law  and  graciously  in- 
vited to  Christ ;  still,  her  base  heart  would  neither 
break  by  (rod's  awful  terrors,  nor  melt  under  his 
amazing  love. — Another  said,  that  all  his  at- 
tempts in  religion  had  been  in  vain — that  his 
prayers  and  resolutions  had  all  failed  him — that 
the  opposition  of  his  heart  to  God  had  seemed  to 
increase ;  until  he  had  been  led  to  see,  there  was 
only  one  hope  for  him,  God  had  promised  to  save 
guilty  sinners,  who  would  trust  to  Christ.  Now, 
he  just  rested  on  that  promise  ;  and  was  troubled 
and  tormented  no  more.  His  heart  was  at  peace. 
He  looked  to  Jesus  Christ  to  save  him,  and  blessed 
God,  that  the  Holy  Spirit  had  led  him  to  this  rest. 
He  would  not  go  back  to  the  world,  for  all  it  could 
offer . — Another  said,  that  he  feared  the  anger  of 
God.  He  knew  he  deserved  it.  He  feared  there 
was  no  mercy  for  him.  He  would  give  all  the 
world,  if  it  were  his,  to  be  the  meanest  and  most 
miserable  Christian  there  is  in  it. 

As  the  young  man  listened  to  these  expressions 
and  the  replies  which  were  made  to  them,  he  be- 
came very  uneasy.  He  changed  his  position  often. 
A  cast  of  impatience  spread  over  his  countenance. 

30 


350  ELECTION. 

His  eye  was  restless.  A  cloud  hung  upon  his 
brow.  Before  I  spoke  to  him,  I  determined  not  to 
allow  him  to  utter  any  cavils  about  election,  in  the 
ears  of  those  who  were  present.  As  I  asked  him, 
whether  he  had  accepted  the  proposals,  which  God 
makes  to  sinners,  to  save  them  by  grace  through 
Jesus  Christ ;  he  answered,  with  an  abruptness 
and  in  a  tone,  which  surprised  us  all : — "  If  God 
foreordains  everything,  I  can't  see  why  we  are  to 
be  condemned  for  sin." 

"  St.  Paul,"  said  I,  (in  a  slow  and  solemn  man- 
ner,) "  has  given  an  answer  to  that,  and  I  have 
no  other  to  give.  When  one  said  to  him,  '  why 
doth  God  yet  find  fault  ?  who  hath  resisted  his 
will  V  Paul  answered  ;  '  nay,  but,  oh  man,  who 
art  thou,  that  repliest  against  God  ?'  "  And  with- 
out giving  him  time  for  another  word,  I  addressed 
myself  to  the  next  individual.  I  said  no  more  to 
him.  And  after  prayer,  I  bade  him  good  night  at 
the  door ;  taking  care,  that  he  should  leave  the 
house  when  the  others  left  it,  having  no  farther 
opportunity  to  speak  to  me. 

The  next  evening  save  one,  he  came  to  see  me 
again.  He  apologized  for  calling  so  soon,  saying 
he  could  not  wait  till  Sunday,  and  he  wished  to 
see  me  alone.  He  immediately  began  to  speak  of 
election.  He  said  he  had  tried,  but  he  could  not 
expel  the  idea  from  his  mind.  It  would  come  up. 
He  believed  the  devil  put  i   into  his  mind,  for  i+ 


ELECTION.  351 

would  occur  to  him,  in  prayer,  in  reading,  in  all 
that  lie  attempted  to  do,  or  think  of.  He  said  he 
could  not  make  up  any  mind  about  it ;  but  he 
wanted  to  tell  me  what  would  occur  to  his 
thoughts,  and  see  if  I  could  assist  him.  He  then 
went  on  to  say,  that  he  believed  in  (rod's  fore- 
knowledge, but  decrees  troubled  him.  He  could 
not  reconcile  predestination  and  free-will.  Another 
time,  he  would  think,  if  he  was  to  be  saved  he 
would  be ;  if  not,  he  could  not  help  himself. 
Sometimes  he  thought  the  doctrine  discouraging, 
and  felt  opposed  to  Grod,  as  if  he  were  a  hard  Mas- 
ter. At  other  times,  he  felt  vexed  with  himself. 
So,  he  was  tossed  about,  without  peace,  and  often 
tormented  with  the  fear,  that  he  should  never  have 
any  religion.  And  he  wanted  me  to  tell  him  what 
was  the  matter,  and  what  he  had  to  do,  and  what 
he  should  think,  about  this  doctrine  of  election. 
After  he  had  said  all  that  he  wished,  I  replied  to 
him: — 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  I  thank  you  for  com- 
ing to  me.  I  am  sorry  you  find  yourself  in  so 
much  unnecessary  trouble ;  and  I  am  perfectly 
willing  to  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  doctrine 
which  troubles  you.  But  before  I  enter  upon  the 
subject,  I  wish  to  tell  you  again,  that  probably  I 
cannot  satisfy  your  mind  at  all.  I  can  drive  you 
from  some  of  your  errors,  but  I  cannot  satisfy 
you." 


352  ELECTION. 

"  "Why  not  ?"  said  he,  anxiously. 

"  Simply  because  you  are  not  satisfied  with 
God.  You  are  opposed  to  him.  There  lies  your 
whole  difficulty.  The  idea  of  his  eternal  sov- 
ereignty brings  him  clearly  to  your  mind  ;  and 
you  dislike  the  doctrine,  just  because  your  heart 
dislikes  Grod.  Your  head  may  be  wrong  in  many 
things,  but  your  heart  is  wrong  in  everything. 
You  need  a  new  heart.  If  you  were  truly  recon- 
ciled to  G-od,  you  would  be  reconciled  to  predesti- 
nation,— not  as  you  have  mis-stated  it,  but  as  it  is 
in  truth.  And  I  wish  you  to  remember  this  ;  and 
remember  what  I  told  you  before,  that  after  .  all 
your  studying,  and  questioning,  and  battling, 
about  the  divine  decrees,  you  will  be  obliged,  at 
last,  to  come  round  to  the  divine  call  to  begin 
with, — a  call  which  bids  you  to  repent,  and  bids 
you  welcome  to  all  that  full  and  free  salvation 
which  Grod  has  provided  for  you. — Let  me  tell  you 
a  fact.  Not  long  since  a  clergyman  of  your  ac- 
quaintance came  down  from  the  pulpit  in  the  city 
of  New  York,  after  he  had  been  preaching  on  the 
sovereignty  of  Grod,  when  a  woman  of  excellent 
mind  and  education  came  up  to  him  at  the  foot 
of  the  pulpit-stairs,  and  thanked  him  very  warmly 
for  that  sermon.  '  Oh,  sir,'  said  she,  '  it  has  done 
me  good.  All  my  life  I  have  been  troubled  with 
the  doctrine  of  election.  I  have  studied  it  for 
more   than   twenty  years    in  vain.     But   now  I 


ELECTION.  353 

know  what  has  been  the  matter,  i"  have  never  been 
entirely  willing,  that  God  should  be  God.'' — And 
when  you  are  entirely  willing,  that  '  God  should 
be  God,'  election  will  trouble  you  no  longer. 

"  I  desire  you  to  remember  also,  that  I  do  not 
preach  predestination  to  you  to-night,  (as  I  am 
about  to  do,)  by  any  choice  of  my  own,  but  be- 
cause you  will  have  it  so, — because  you  cannot 
be  persuaded  by  all  I  have  said  to  you,  not  to 
meddle  with  dark  and  inscrutable  counsels,  but 
attend  to  God's  plain  and  practical  call.  I  can 
correct  some  of  your  errors,  but  I  cannot  make  a 
carnal  mind,  which  is  enmity  against  (rod,  satis- 
fied with  Grod's  eternal  foreordination,  and  with 
God  himself." 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  he,  "  I  tried  to  dismiss 
the  subject,  but  I  could  not.  And  I  am  very  anx- 
ious to  have  you  settle  my  difficulties,  if  you  can. 
At  least,  tell  me  what  you  think  about  such 
things  as  I  mentioned  when  I  came  in." 

"  Then  hear  me,"  said  I,  "  and  I  will  be  as 
brief  as  I  can. 

"  First,  let  me  say,  the  doctrine  of  predestina- 
tion is  not  mine.  It  is  God's.  He  has  put  it 
in  his  sacred  book,  and  neither  you  nor  I  can  put 
it  out.  He  put  it  there  because  he  wanted  it 
there ;  and  whatever  men  may  think  of  its  use- 
lessness,  God  does  not  need  their  instructions. 
He   will   not   receive   their   criticisms.     He   will 

30* 


354  ELECTION. 

frown  upon  their  contentions.  Such  words  as 
'  election,  purpose,  predestination,'  are  in  the 
Bible.  They  mean  something.  We  are  bound  to 
know  what  they  mean,  and  to  love  the  meaning. 
The  doctrine  is  in  the  Bible.  Predestination  and 
the  word  of  Grod  will  stand  or  fall  together. 

"  Predestination  is  God's  eternal  purpose  to 
rule  his  universe,  just  as  he  does  rule  it.  If  any 
man  is  satisfied  with  God's  ruling,  as  he  does ;  I 
cannot  understand  why  he  should  have  any  dis- 
satisfaction with  his  pre-determination  to  rule 
just  so.  His  pre-determination  is  only  the  eternal 
plan  of  his  government, — only  his  eternal  decree. 

"  The  decrees  of  God  are  rules  for  his  own  ac 
tion, — not  for  ours.  They  are  nothing  more  than 
his  own  wise  plans,  eternal  and  unchangeable,  ac- 
cording to  which  he  chooses  to  act.  If  he  had  no 
such  plans  he  could  not  be  wise ;  he  would  be 
acting  at  mere  hap-hazard,  not  knowing  why  he 
made  the  world,  or  what  was  going  to  be  the  re- 
sult !  If  he  has  formed  his  plans  or  changed 
them  since  time  began,  then  he  is  a  changeable 
Being,  his  dignity  is  sunk,  and  all  security  to  the 
universe  is  sunk  with  it.  For  he  may  change 
again ;  and  what  will  come  yet,  or  what  he  will 
become,  no  mind  can  conjecture  !  So  far  as  gov- 
ernment is  concerned,  it  is  nothing  to  you  whether 
he  forms  the  plan  for  his  day's  work  every  morn- 
ing, or  formed   it  from  eternity.     Plan  he   must 


ELECTION.  355 

have  before  he  acts,  or  else  he  is  the  least  wise  of 
all  intelligent  beings  in  the  universe !  Until  he 
acts,  you  know  nothing  of  his  plans,  his  predesti- 
nation ;  and  therefore,  so  far  as  plan  or  execution 
of  it  is  concerned,  it  matters  not  to  you  whether 
he  is  now  foreordaining  moment  by  moment,  or 
from  all  eternity  foreordained  whatsoever  comes  to 
pass.  His  decrees  are  not  laws  for  his  creatures, 
but  rules  for  himself.  They  are  not  statutes,  ad- 
dressed to  will,  and  demanding  obedience,  or  com- 
pelling it.  They  are  only  his  wise,  holy,  and 
eternal  purposes,  wherein  he  has  determined  be- 
forehand what  he  will  do,  and  how  he  will  do  it. 
You  may  not  like  the  method  by  which  he  makes 
the  sun  burn,  the  ocean  heave,  or  the  lost  Pleiad 
go  out, — by  which  he  directs  the  earthquake,  the 
storm,  the  death-wing  of  the  pestilence,  or  man- 
ages his  angels,  men,  and  devils.  But  he  has  a 
way  of  his  own,  he  has  considered  it  well,  he  has 
not  asked  your  advice  ;  and  you  would  do  well  to 
pause  a  little,  before  you  venture  any  more  criti- 
cisms upon  ;  that  high  and  lofty  One  who  inhabit- 
eth  eternity  !'     Just  consent  to  let  God  be  GodP 

"  Do  you  say,"  said  he,  "  that  the  decrees  of 
God  affect  only  his  acts  ?  do  they  not  affect  ours 
also  ?" 

"  I  say,  that  they  are  rules  for  only  his  own 
acts,  and  do  not  affect  ours  directly.  How  can 
they  affect  ours  ?     They  are  even  unknown  to  us. 


356  ELECTION. 

They  are  his  secret  purposes,  locked  up  in  his 
own  mind,  and  never  known  to  an  angel  in 
heaven,  till  he  chooses  to  make  them  known.  A 
secret  purpose  in  my  mind  cannot  affect  you. 
You  do  not  see  it,  feel  it,  hear  it,  or  know  any- 
thing about  it.  It  cannot  affect  you.  You  may 
think  I  have  it,  and  the  thought  of  it  may  affect 
you;  and  that  is  all.  Just  so  it  is  with  God's 
foreordination.  It  touches  nobody.  No  one  feels 
it.  It  does  not  hit  a  man's  head,  or  feet,  or  fin- 
gers, or  heart — it  absolutely  affects  nothing  at 
all ;  until  God  pleases  to  proceed  to  act  upon  it, 
and  carry  it  into  execution.  It  is  this  execution 
only,  which  affects  anything.  It  is  G-od's  govern- 
ment, and  nothing  but  his  government,  which  is 
felt,  or  which  influences  anybody. — If  therefore, 
you  must  complain,  shift  your  ground  of  complain- 
ing. Complain  of  G-od's  government,  of  his  provi- 
dence ;  and  not  of  those  secret  decrees,  which  you 
know  nothing  about,  and  which  never  touch  you." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "this  is  new  to  me.  I  never 
thought  of  it  before. — But,  if  I  understand  you, 
we  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  decrees  of  Grod." 

"  Nobody  ever  told  you  we  had  anything  to  do 
with  them ; — except  to  consent,  that  Grod  should 
have  them,  and  execute  them.  I  am  sure  I  tried, 
with  all  my  might,  to  persuade  you  not  to  meddle 
with  them ;  but  to  obey  the  gospel  call,  and  let 
Grod  take  care  of  his  decrees." 


ELECTION.  357 

"  But  how,"  said  he,  "  do  you  reconcile  foreor- 
dination  and  free  agency  ?" 

"  I  never  try  :  for  the  best  of  all  reasons  ;  they 
need  no  reconciling.  They  are  not  at  war  with 
each  other.  If  you  will  get  them  quarreling,  I 
will  soon  put  them  at  peace.  Things  need  recon- 
ciling, only  when  they  conflict. — Here  are  but  two 
propositions.  First,  Grod  foreordains  whatsoever 
comes  to  pass.  Second,  Man  is  a  free  agent. 
One  of  these  propositions  does  not  contradict  the 
other.  If  it  did,  one  or  both  would  be  false,  and 
we  would  abandon  the  falsehood.  But  there  is  no 
conflict  or  inconsistency  between  them.  I  defy 
you  to  show  any.  I  know,  indeed,  men  have  often 
said  it,  and  sung  it, 

1  God  can't  decree 
And  man  be  free :' — 

but  they  have  never  proved  it,  and  never  will. 
They  have  never  shown  any  inconsistency  between 
Election  and  Free-will.  In  our  church  standards, 
(which  explain  how  we  understand  the  Bible,)  we 
have  one  chapter,  '  on  Grod's  eternal  decree ;' 
another  '  on  Free-will.'  One  affirms ;  |  Grod, 
from  all  eternity,  did  unchangeably  ordain  what- 
soever comes  to  pass.'  The  other  affirms  :  '  Grod 
hath  endued  the  will  of  man  with  that  natural 
liberty,  that  it  is  neither  forced,  nor  by  any  abso- 
lute necessity  of  nature,   determined  to   good  or 


358 


ELECTION. 


evil.'  God  foreordained  that  man  should  be  a 
free  agent, — and  he  is  one.  The  eternal  decree 
has  secured  his  free  agency.  Grod  predestinated 
the  freedom  of  the  human  will. — Hence,  man  is 
'free  when  he  sins,  and  free  when  he  repents  of  sin  : 
he  is  free  when  he  hates  Grod,  and  free  when  he 
loves  him :  he  is  free  when  he  neglects  the  great 
salvation,  and  free  when  he  seeks  Grod  with  all  his 
heart.  His  bondage  in  sin  is  a  willing  bondage. 
And  yet,  it  is  true,  that  he  cannot  save  himself ; 
but  infinitely  needs  the  direct  power  of  the  Holy 
Spirit,  to  renew  his  obstinate  will,  and  ;  persuade 
and  enable  him  to  embrace  Jesus  Christ'  for  salva- 
tion. Aside  from  this  Holy  Spirit,  there  is  not  an 
item  of  hope  for  him,  as  there  is  not  an  item  of 
ability  in  him.  '  He  hath  wholly  lost  all  ability 
of  will  to  any  spiritual  good  accompanying  salva- 
tion.'— But,  he  is  free.  If  he  sins,  he  sins  freely — 
he  chooses  to  sin. 

"  But  take  another  view  of  this  matter.  Truths 
are  always  consistent,  and  must  be  so.  Here  is 
one  truth  ;  Grod  predestinates.  The  Bible  says  so  ; 
and  aside  from  the  Bible,  I  know  it  by  my  own 
reason,  just  as  well  as  I  know,  that  Grod  is  wise 
enough  to  have  some  plan  for  his  actions.  That, 
then,  is  a  truth  ;  Grod  predestinates. 

"  Here  is  another  truth ;  man  is  free.  He 
knows  this  by  his  own  consciousness.  He  knows, 
that  he  acts  of  his  own  free  choice,  just  as  well  as 


ELECTION.  359 

he  knows  his  own  existence.  He  feels  accountable 
for  his  actions.  The  laws  of  both  man  and  God 
hold  him  accountable.  All  his  neighbors  deal  with 
him,  as  a  free  and  accountable  being.  He  has  not 
himself  a  doubt  on  the  subject.  If  he  believes  he 
is  not  free,  he  is  not  an  ordinary  man — he  is 
either  a  fool  or  a  madman,  and  I  would  as  soon 
reason  with  a  rock.  If  a  man  tells  you  he  is  not 
free,  that  he  does  not  act  of  his  own  free-will ; 
give  him  a  blistering  cap  and  a  strait-jacket,  and 
send  him  to  the  mad-house.  The  man  is  a  ma- 
niac.    He  is  unfit  to  be  at  large. 

"  Here  then  are  two  truths.  God  decrees.  Man 
is  a  free  agent.  Each  of  them  is  fully  proved. 
Each  of  them  is  just  as  certain  to  every  sane  and 
intelligent  man,  as  any  truth  in  the  universe. 
Therefore,  they  must  be  consistent.  They  need 
no  reconciling." 

"  I  know  I  am  free,"  said  he. 

"  And  you  know  God  foreordains,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,"  said  he ;  "it  must  be  so.  The  Bible  says 
so  ;  and  he  could  not  be  a  wise  God  without  it." 

"  That,  then,  is  enough,"  said  I.  "  What  more 
do  you  want  ?" 

He  sat  a  long  time  in  silence,  manifestly  in  deep 
thought.  At  length  he  asked  very  modestly  ; 
"  But  if  God  foreordains  to  eternal  life,  why  have 
men  got  anything  to  do,  in  order  to  be  saved !" 

"  Just  because  God  foreordained  they  shall  have 


360  ELECTION. 

something  to  do,  in  order  to  be  saved.  Grod  has 
no  more  foreordained  the  end,  than  he  has  fore- 
ordained the  means.  He  decrees  no  end,  without 
decreeing  the  means  to  reach  it.  After  St.  Paul, 
as  instructed  by  God,  had  promised  those  on  the 
ship,  that  no  man's  life  should  be  lost ;  he  after- 
wards said,  when  the  sailors  were  about  to  flee  out 
of  the  ship ;  '  except  these  abide  in  the  ship,  ye 
cannot  be  saved.'  The  promise  and  the  predesti- 
nation could  not  save  them,  if  the  predestinated 
means  failed.  And  you  will  notice  how  the  Bible, 
whenever  it  enters  into  any  explanation  of  this 
matter,  never  leaves  out  the  means.  '  Grod  hath 
chosen  us  in  Christ,  before  the  foundation  of  the 
world,  that  we  should  be  holy,  and  without  blame 
before  him  in  love  ;  having  predestinated  us  unto 
the  adoption  of  children  by  Jesus  Christ  to  him- 
self, according  to  the  good  pleasure  of  his  will.' 
He  hath  not  merely  chosen  us  to  heaven ;  but, 
'  that  we  should  be  holy,  without  blame,  in  love.' 
The  means  for  heaven,  and  qualifications  for 
heaven  are  as  much  decreed,  as  the  heaven  itself. 
Just  so  it  stands  in  that  passage  in  Romans,  which 
I  named  to  you  once  before :  '  for  whom  he  did 
foreknow,  he  also  did  predestinate,'  (not  merely  to 
heaven,  but)  '  to  be  conformed  to  the  image  of  his 
Son.''  And  more ; — '  whom  he  did  predestinate, 
them  he  also  called ;  and  whom  he  called  them  he 
also  justified  ;  and  whom  he  justified  them  he  also 


ELECTION.  361 

glorified. '  Not  a  link  is  left  out.  The  whole 
chain  is  perfect.  Predestination  reaches  both 
means  and  ends  together ; — never  the  one,  without 
the  other.  If  your  salvation  is  foreordained ;  your 
repentance,  your  faith,  and  holiness,  and  willing 
obedience  to  Grod  are  foreordained  also.  And  so  is 
your  ivilling  and  prayerful  use  of  all  the  means 
of  eternal  life.  And  this  brings  to  mind  one  of 
your  expressions,  '  if  I  am  to  be  saved  I  shall  be 
saved,  do  what  I  will ;  according  to  this  doctrine.' 
That  is  utterly  false  !  This  doctrine  says  no  such 
thing.  It  says  directly  the  contrary.  It  unites 
means  and  ends, — repentance,  faith,  prayer,  hu- 
mility, love,  goodness,  holiness,  as  means ;  and 
heaven,  as  the  end.  '  If  I  am. to  be  saved  I  shall 
be,  do  what  I  may  V  that  is  not  our  doctrine ! 
You  never  heard  it  preached  so!  No  man  ever 
preached  it  so  !  No  man  ever  believed  that !  Elec- 
tion does  not  dispense  with  the  means  of  salvation, 
and  you  cannot  dispense  with  them.  You  will  re- 
pent willingly,  '  in  the  day  of  Grod's  power ;'  you 
will  pray,  you  will  flee  to  Christ,  you  will  '  strive  to 
enter  in  at  the  strait  gate,'  if  you  are  going  to  be 
saved. — I  cannot  see  for  you  the  end.  I  cannot 
lift  the  curtain  that  hides  eternity,  and  show  you 
your  place  in  the  world  of  spirits ;  but  I  can  see 
your  duty  here,  the  means  of  salvation,  which 
ought  to  engage  all  your  efforts.  And,  by  the 
promise  of  the  Grod  of  truth,  I  can  know,  that  if 

31 


362  KtrEOTION, 

you  employ  the  means  as  he  bids  you,  you  cannot 
fail  of  the  end,  eternal  life.  '  He  that  soweth  to 
the  spirit  shall  of  the  Spirit  reap  life  everlasting,' 
because  (rod  hath  foreordained  it  shall  be  so. 

"  This  predestinating  of  Grod  is  the  most  com- 
fortable truth  in  the  Bible.  Strange  that  men 
should  quarrel  with  it.  •  There  is  no  other  truth, 
which  carries  with  it  a  single  gleam  of  comfort  to 
shine  on  the  wide  world  of  futurity,  and  make  man 
die  in  peace.  Everybody  wants  God  to  predesti- 
nate ;  for  everybody  wants  him  to  promise.  Ev- 
ery promise  of  his  is  a  predestination  of  his — it 
is  only  a  determination  and  a  commitment  of  him- 
self to  carry  it  out.  G-od  cannot  promise  without 
predestinating ;  and  it  is  predestination  therefore, 
which  alone  lights  up  a  single  gleam  of  gladness 
beyond  the  shores  of  time,  to  shine  on  that  ocean 
eternity,  where  the  immortal  spirit  shall  soon  be 
launched.  In  utter  darkness  must  it  launch  there, 
if  Grod  does  not  predestinate.  All  the  promises  are 
blanks,  if  predestination  is  gone  ! 

"  You  spoke  to  me  once,  about  being  troubled, 
that  this  doctrine  makes  man  a  mere  machine. 
"What  a  superficial,  what  a  silly  idea !  If  you  are 
not  a  crazy  man,  you  know  you  are  free.  You  came 
here  to-night  freely.  You  will  depart  freely.  You 
never  acted  and  cannot  act,  but  by  the  choice  of 
your  own  mind.  Grod  decreed  from  all  eternity, 
that  you  should  be  a  free,  moral  agent,  and  you  al- 


ELECTION.  363 

ways  have  been  so, in  all  your  sin.  Grod  has  ap- 
pointed the  means  of  salvation,  and  solemnly,  sin- 
cerely, and  affectionately  calls  on  you,  to  employ 
them  voluntarily  ;  while,  as  you  are  doing  so,  his 
predestinating  promise  throws  the  cheering  of  its 
light,  over  all  the  eternity  before  you.  The  doc- 
trine of  the  divine  decrees  does  not  represent  man 
as  a  mere  machine.  It  is  predestination,  which 
secures  hirn  his  freedom  of  will ;  and  secures  to 
him,  by  predestinating  promise,  the  eternal  rewards 
of  evangelical  obedience — '  sow  to  the  spirit — reap 
life  everlasting.'  " 

After  some  few  minutes  of  thoughtful  silence 
again,  he  said  to  me,  more  in  the  accent  of  serious 
inquiry,  than  of  captiousness  : — 

"  What  is  the  use  of  praying  ?" 

Said  I,  "  What  is  the  use  of  breathing  ?  Breath- 
ing is  the  means  to  an  end.  Praying  is  the 
means  to  an  end.  Predestination  does  not  secure 
life  without  breath,  and  does  not  secure  eternal 
life  without  prayer." 

After  another  pause,  he  replied : — U  If  sin  is  fore- 
ordained, how  can  men  be  blamed  for  sinning  ?" 

"  Because  they  choose  to  sin,"  said  I.  "  They 
sin  willingly.  They  know  it.  And  they  know 
they  are  blamable,  as  well  as  they  know  any- 
thing. God  foreordained  they  should  be  blamablo 
if  they  sinned." 

Another  pause  ensued      Finally,  he  said  to  me : 


364  ELECTION. 

"  I  cannot  understand  this  thing? — Is  it  not  more 
correct  to  say,  that  God  foreknows  everything, 
than  to  say  he  foreordains  everything  ?" 

"  No  ;  not  so  much  so ;  if  you  intend  by  this, 
to  make  foreknowledge  mean  anything  less  than 
foreordination.  What  is  knowledge  ?  It  is  the 
ascertainment  or  recognition  of  some  certainty, 
some  reality.  All  knowledge  is  founded  on  cer- 
tainty. It  cannot  be  foreknown,  that  anything 
shall  take  place,  unless  it  is  certain,  that  the  thing 
shall  take  place.  What  has  made  that  certainty  ? 
If  it  is  God,  who  has  made  it ;  then  he  is  a  fore- 
ordaining (rod.  If  it  is  not  God,  who  has  made 
it,  then  there  is  something  above  him,  {fate,  or 
something  else,)  and  he  is  Grod  and  Governor  no 
longer  !  Then,  he  has  no  right  to  promise — he  can, 
at  most,  only  predict.  And  then,  we  have  nothing 
to  thank  him  for,  in  time  or  eternity  ;  and  all  grat- 
itude, love  and  prayer  become  supreme  foolishness ! 
How  can  you  utter  a  syllable  of  prayer,  if  God 
does  not  govern,  if  he  does  not  control  all  the  cer- 
tainties which  can  be  foreknown?  But  he  does 
control.  His  decree  has  made  the  certainties, 
which  his  foreknowledge  recognizes.  It  could  not 
recognize,  could  not  foreknow,  if  God  had  not  fore- 
ordained." 

After  a  few  moments,  he  rose  from  his  seat  with 
the  declaration,  "  I  have  no  more  to  say.  I  am 
glad  I  came  here.     I  understand  some  things  now, 


ELECTION.  365 

which  I  never  did  before.  But  this  is  still  a  dark 
subject.  I  know  I  am  a  sinner,  and  yet  I  cannot 
see  how  I  am  to  be  blamed,  if  (rod  foreordained  it. 
You  say  he  foreordained  my  free  agency  and  ac- 
countability, and  that  I  have  sinned  of  my  own 
choice.  I  suppose  it  is  so.  I  know  I  act  freely, 
for  I  feel  it.  But  I  am  perplexed,  a'nd  know  not 
what  to  do." 

"  Do  what  Grod  bids  you,"  said  I.  "  Obey  the 
invitations  of  his  grace.  Flee  to  Christ  and  be 
saved." 

He  left  me.  I  did  not  see  him  again,  till  about 
a  month  afterwards,  when  he  called  on  me  and 
told  me  he  hoped,  that  he  had  been  led  to  choose 
Christ,  as  the  portion  of  his  soul.  He  did  not 
mention  the  subject  of  election,  at  all ;  till  I  asked 
him,  how  he  had  extricated  himself  from  his 
troubles  of  mind  in  respect  to  it.  His  answer  was 
memorable.  Said  he:  "I  dismissed  it  from  my 
mind  entirely.  I  found  that  my  wicked,  worldly 
heart  was  resorting  to  the  doctrine  of  election,  as 
an  excuse  for  my  not  turning  to  Grod.  It  was 
nothing  but  an  excuse  to  me,  for  my  prayerless- 
ness,  my  love  of  the  world  and  all  sin.  But  since 
I  have  had  a  hope  in  the  mercy  of  Grod,  I  am  glad 
that  Grod  reigns,  as  he  pleases.  Election  troubles 
me  no  more.  In  my  opinion,  if  a  man  is  reconciled 
to  God,  he  will  be  satisfied  with  predestination." 

He  afterwards  made  a  public  profession  of  his 

31* 


366 


ELECTION. 


religion.  He  still  lives,  a  communicant  in  the 
church.  More  than  once,  he  has  said  to  me  ; 
"  your  explanation  settles  everything,  'predestina- 
tion is  (rod's  eternal  purpose  to  rule  his  universe 
just  as  he  does  rule  it.'  " 


There  is  a  mode  of  contending  for  the  great  doc- 
trines of  truth,  which  may  almost  be  said  to  sub- 
stantiate them  and  neutralize  them,  at  the  same 
time.  Such  doctrines  are  susceptible  of  demon- 
stration :  and  for  one  purpose,  the  demonstration  is 
often  indispensable.  And  yet,  this  purpose  is  only 
semi-religious.  It  may  be  necessary  to  make  full 
intellectual  demonstration  of  doctrines,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  silencing  cavils  and  scepticism,  by  show- 
ing, that  Christianity  can  withstand  all  the  assail- 
ments  of  argument  and  all  the  onsets  of  reasoning, 
which  can  possibly  be  brought  to  bear  against  her. 
There  may  be  som^  benefit  in  this.  But  it  is  only 
the  benefit  of  defence,  or,  at  most,  only  clearing 
the  ivay,  in  order  to  get  at  the  position  and  real 
work  of  religion.  That  work  lies  far  more  in  van- 
quishing depravity,  than  in  enlightening  the  intel- 
lect.— By  the  stern  and  severe  logic  of  reasoning, 
by  carrying  on  a  vigorous  warfare  of  mere'argu- 
mentation.  it  is  quite  a  possible  thing,  to  silence 


ELECTION.  367 

every  cavilling  of  captiousness,  and  compel  the  un- 
derstanding of  an  unconverted  man  to  acquiesce 
in  the  doctrinal  truths  of  Christianity.  And  this  is 
not  to  be  undervalued.  If  we  have  silenced  the 
battery  of  an  opponent^  we  have  taken  one  step 
towards  getting  him  to  cease  from  an  open  and 
avowed  hostility.  But  this  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  taking  a  single  step  towards  such  a 
victory,  as  we  wish  to  gain  over  him.  We  do  not 
wish  merely  to  silence  and  stop  an  enemy:  we 
wish  to  convert  him  into  a  friend.  We  would 
have  him  love  the  truth ;  and  not  simply  make  to 
it  a  cold  and  constrained  obeisance.  He  may,  in- 
deed, deem  such  an  obeisance  an  honor  to  Christi- 
anity ;  but  in  reality,  it  is  only  a  dishonor  and  dis- 
grace. Christianity  deserves  something  more.  It 
is  quite  a  possible  thing,  and  quite  a  common  one 
too,  that  the  truths  of  Grod  should  be  acquiesced 
in,  while,  at  the  very  same  moment,  they  are  not 
realized.  The  acquiescence  is  little  to  the  pur- 
pose, if  that  is  all.  It  is  not  a  living  faith.  And 
the  most  that  can  be  said  of  it  is,  that  it  is  a  dead 
orthodoxy.  Our  main  business  with  any  doctrine 
of  religion  is  not  to  prove  it,  but  to  proceed  upon 
it — not  to  understand  it,  but  to  apply  and  employ 
it.  No  doctrine  is  ever  revealed  to  us  in  the  Bible 
for  its  own  sake  merely,  or  for  our  understanding 
of  it  merely.  The  great  object  lies  beyond.  Some- 
thing should  be  effected  by  it.     And  if  we  regard 


368  ELECTION. 

the  doctrine  itself  as  the  end ;  our  contest  in  its 
behalf  will  be  carried  on  with  a  very  different 
spirit  and  managed  in  a  very  different  manner 
from  what  would  prevail,  if  our  mind  were  fixed 
on  the  momentous  and  eternal  design,  for  which 
the  doctrine  has  been  revealed  to  us.  If  we  can 
induce  any  man  to  study  for  the  sake  of  practice ; 
the  end  he  has  then  in  view  will  help  him  over 
many  a  difficulty.  To  have  his  end  practical,  is 
the  very  way  to  get  right  in  the  principle.  And 
when  we  wage  our  warfare  with  him,  as  if  the 
principle  were  the  main  thing  ;  we  shall  be  apt  to 
induce  him  to  stop  far  short  of  his  just  landing 
place.  It  would  be  far  better,  to  set  him  out  in 
an  honest,  and  earnest,  and  instant  inquiry,  about 
the  way  of  his  own  salvation.  That  motive  stand- 
ing first,  and  being  seconded  by  all  the  deep  ur- 
gencies that  fitly  bear  upon  it ;  there  will  be  little 
danger  of  his  failing  to  get  right  in  his  principles, 
if  he  prayerfully  keeps  the  Bible  before  him.  If 
he  will  attend  to  the  duty,  he  will  soon  get  right  in 
the  doctrine.  But  if  he  will  only  attend  to  the 
doctrine,  he  will  be  very  apt  to  miss  it,  or  misun- 
derstand it.  Engaged  in  an  honest  and  earnest 
attempt  after  salvation,  he  will  rise  above  all  mere 
scholarship,  as  he  aims  to  find  out  where  the  truth 
lies.  He  will  discover  often  what  the  truth  must 
be,  in  order  to  meet  the  necessities  of  his  own  na- 
ture.    He  will  ask  God  to  teach  him,  and  God 


ELECTION.  369 

will  honor  the  asking.  And  thus,  not  studying 
the  truth  in  captiousness,  but  in  candor — not  in 
curiosity  but  in  carefulness — not  in  pride  and  pre- 
judice, but  for  practice,  and  for  a  permanency  as 
durable  as  immortal  life ;  he  will  both  avoid  the 
fogs  which  would  obscure  one  half  of  it,  and  the 
counteraction  which  would  neutralize  the  other 
half :  For  there  will  always  be  fog  over  every  item 
of  God's  truth  when  it  is  not  studied  for  the  heart ; 
and  there  will  be  counteraction  from  the  heart  it- 
self to  make  void  even  all  its  enlightening  virtue. 
— And  besides  all  this,  there  are  things  not  a  few, 
among  the  doctrines  of  Grod,  to  which  we  shall 
labor  in  vain  to  make  a  sinner  reconciled,  until  he 
is  reconciled  to  (rod  himself.  If  he  is  led  truly  to 
realize  the  necessities  of  his  own  nature ;  he  will 
lose  half  his  objections  and  sink  half  his  difficul- 
ties. If  he  becomes  reconciled  to  Grod  in  Jesus 
Christ ;  the  other  half  will  not  trouble  him  much 
longer. 


THE   BROWN   JUG. 


In  the  course  of  my  pastoral  visits,  I  called 
upon  a  man  who  was  a  member  of  my  congrega- 
tion, a  farmer,  between  fifty  and  sixty  years  of 
age,  a  plain  man,  accustomed  to  daily  labor.  He 
was  not  a  communicant,  and  I  had  no  reason  to 
think  him  to  be  a  pious  man.  He  was  a  regular 
attendant  upon  the  religious  services  of  the  Sab- 
bath ;  but  I  had  never  seen  him  in  any  religious 
assembly  at  any  other  time.  He  was  regarded  as 
a  respectable  man,  I  believe,  in  all  respects.  His 
wife  was  a  pious  woman,  whom  I  had  sometimes 
conversed  with,  and  who  had  expressed  to  me  her 
anxiety  in  regard  to  the  religions  state  of  her  hus- 
band. He  had  been  for  so  many  years  living 
under  the  means  of  grace,  without  being  led  to 
repentance  and  faith  in  Christ ;  that  she  was 
afraid  his  mind  had  settled  down  upon  some 
ruinous  error,  or  into  a  strange  stupidity,  so  that 
he  never  would  become  a  Christian.     She  said  she 


THE     BROWN     JUG.  371 

had  often  talked  to  him  on  the  subject  of  his  re- 
ligious duty  ;  but  he  seldom  entered  into  any  free 
conversation  upon  it ;  indeed,  "  he  would  say  al- 
most nothing  at  all  about  himself."  He  would 
hear  what  she  had  to  say,  without  any  opposi- 
tion, and  with  apparent  willingness ;  but  he  sel- 
dom made  any  reply,  except  to  make  some  gen- 
eral acknowledgment  of  the  importance  of  the 
subject.  He  had  a  family  of  children,  the  most 
of  whom  had  already  arrived  at  the  years  of  man- 
hood, and  none  of  them  manifested  any  disposition 
to  obey  the  gospel  in  spirit  and  in  truth.  They 
were  a  moral  and  industrious  family.  The  sons 
were  much  like  their  father,  with  the  exception, 
that  they  less  frequently  were  seen  at  church. 
The  family  resided  some  distance  from  my  resi- 
dence, and  J  had  not  known  them  very  intimate- 
ly, except  the  mother,  as  the  rest  of  the  family 
were  usually  absent  in  the  field,  when  I  called  at 
their  house. 

Before  the  time  to  which  I  refer,  I  had  never 
found  this  man  at  home  ;  nor  had  I  been  able  to 
converse  with  him  at  all  in  reference  to  his  re- 
ligious duty.  Soon  after  I  entered  the  house,  his 
wife  retired  from  the  room,  and  left  me  alone 
with  him.  I  immediately  addressed  him  on  the 
subject  of  religion.  He  appeared  candid  and 
solemn.  I  found  that  he  had  no  hope  in  Christ. 
He  said  that  religion  had,  for  many  years,  appear- 


372  THE     BROWN     JUG. 

cd  to  him  as  a  solemn  and  important  duty.  He 
wished  he  was  a  Christian.  He  said  he  was  fully 
sensible,  that  he  was  a  sinner  in  God's  sight,  and 
was  exposed  to  his  righteous  justice.  He  referred 
to  the  sermons  which  he  heard  from  Sabbath  to 
Sabbath  ;  and  said  it  was  a  wonder  to  him,  that 
they  did  not  influence  him  more.  But  he  sup- 
posed that  he  had  "  little  true  conviction  of  sin," 
and  little  sense  of  his  real  condition,  or  he  should 
be  a  different  man. — In  this  manner  he  spake  of 
himself  very  freely,  for  a  long  time. 

He  appeared  to  me  to  be  a  man  of  respectable 
mind,  rather  slow  in  thought  and  in  his  sensibili- 
ties, but  of  sound  judgment,  and  of  some  discrim- 
ination. 

I  urged  him  to  give  his  instant  and  prayerful 
attention  to  his  salvation  ;  but  he  did  not  seem  in- 
clined to  yield  to  my  solicitation.  I  pressed  it 
upon  him  strongly.  I  recited  to  him  the  promises 
of  God,  made  to  them  that  seek  him  ;  and  the 
threatenings  of  God  against  the  neglecters  of  sal- 
vation. Still  he  appeared  unmoved.  I  then  con- 
cluded to  put  together,  in  a  manner  adapted  to  his 
cast  of  mind,  some  of  the  most  urgent  appeals 
that  I  could  think  of.     I  commenced.      Said  I  : — 

"  You  are  already  somewhat  advanced  in  life. 
Your  remaining  years  will  be  few.  You  have  no 
time  to  lose.  You  have  lost  enough  already.  If 
you  do  not  become  a  follower  of  Christ  soon,  you 


THE     BROWN     JUG.  373 

never  will.  You  have  a  family  of  children.  You 
have  never  set  them  an  example  of  piety.  You 
have  never  prayed  with  them  as  you  ought  to 
have  done.  Your  neglect  goes  far  to  destroy  all 
the  influence  which  their  mother  might  have  over 
them.  They  copy  your  example,  (rod  will  hold 
you  accountable  for  a  father's  influence.  You 
may  be  the  cause  of  their  ruin,  because — " 

"  That  often  troubles  me,"  said  he,  (interrupt- 
ing me  in  the  middle  of  what  I  designed  to  say.) 

"  It  ought  to  trouble  you.  It  is  a  serious  mat- 
ter, for  a  father  to  live  before  his  sons  without  ac- 
knowledging Grod,  without  prayer,  without  hope, 
just  as  if  he  and  they  had  no  more  interest  in  the 
matter  of  religion  than  the  beast,  whose  '  spirit 
goeth  downward  to  the  earth.'  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  it  is,"  said  he.  *  And  I  am  now 
getting  to  be  an  old  man,  I  wish  I  could  get  re- 
ligion." 

"  You  can.  The  whole  way  is  clear,  (rod's 
word  has  made  it  so." 

"I  will  begin,"  said  he,  emphatically.  "  But  I 
wish  you  would  make  a  prayer  with  us.  I  will 
call  in  Mrs.  E and  the  boys."" 

He  immediately  called  them. 

After  my  saying  a  few  words  to  each  of  them, 
and  briefly  addressing  them  all,  we  knelt  together 
in  prayer.  As  we  rose  from  our  knees,  he  said  to 
his  children,  v  ry  solemnly  : — "  Boys,  I  hope  this 

32 


374  THE     BROWN     JUG. 

visit  of  our  minister  will  do  us  all  good.     It  is 
time  for  us  to  think  of  our  souls."     I  left  them. 

The  next  Sabbath  they  were  all  in  church.  At 
the  close  of  the  morning  service  I  had  some  con- 
versation again  with  the  father.  He  appeared  to 
be  honestly  and  fully  determined  to  "deny  him- 
self, take  up  his  cross  and  follow  Jesus  Christ." 

He  continued  very  much  in  this  state  of  mind 
for  some  months,  sensible  ol  his  need  of  Christ  to 
save  him,  and  prayerful  for  divine  mercy.  I  saw 
him  and  conversed  with  him  many  times.  He 
did  not  appear  to  make  any  progress  either  in 
knowledge  or  sensibility.  He  did  not  go  back ; 
but  he  was  stationary.  He  prayed  in  secret.  He 
prayed  in  his  family.  He  studied  his  Bible.  He 
conversed  with  me  freely.  He  sought  opportunity 
for  conversation.  Uniformly  he  appeared  solemn 
and  in  earnest.  But  he  found  no  peace  with  Grod, 
no  hope  in  Christ.  Evidently  he  was  in  deep' 
trouble  of  mind. 

As  he  was  not  a  man  of  much  cultivation  of 
mind,  I  aimed  to  teach  him  the  truth  in  the  most 
plain  and  simple  manner.  I  proved  everything, 
and  explained  everything.  It  was  all  in  vain. 
Months  rolled  on.  He  continued  in  the  same 
state.  It  was  impossible  to  discover  or  conjecture 
what  kept  him  from  Christ.  His  condition  filled 
me  with  solicitude ;  but  I  studied  it  in  vain. 

I  made  inquiries  atoiut  him  among  his  friends 


THE     BROWN     JUG.  375 

and  neighbors,  to  learn  if  possible,  his  whole  dis- 
position and  his  character  of  mind.  But  I  soon 
discovered,  as  I  thought,  that  I  knew  him  better 
than  anybody  else. 

More  than  six  months  after  he  began  to  give 
his  prayerful  attention  to  his  salvation,  as  I  was 
riding  towards  his  house,  just  at  a  turn  in  the 
road,  where  it  wound  round  a  hill,  which  hindered 
our  seeing  each  other  till  we  were  close  together, 
I  suddenly  met  him.  He  was  riding  in  his  one- 
horse  wagon  towards  the  village.  I  stopped  my 
horse  to  speak  to  him,  and  I  thought  he  appeared 
disposed  to  pass  on.  Bat  as  the  road  was  narrow, 
and  I  had  stopped  my  carriage,  the  wheels  of  our 
vehicles  almost  touched  each  other,  and  he  could 
not  well  get  by.  We  had  a  long  conversation,  as 
we  sat  in  our  carriages,  in  that  retired  and  roman- 
tic spot.  But  I  discerned  no  change  in  his  re- 
ligious feelings.  He  was  as  determined,  but  as 
hopeless  as  ever. 

At  length  my  eye  happened  to  rest  on  a  brown 
jug,  which  would  contain  about  two  gallons,  and 
which  was  lying  on  its  side,  under  the  seat  of  his 
wagon.  The  thought  came  into  my  mind,  that 
he  might  be  accustomed  to  the  use  of  stimulating 
drinks,  and  that  that  might  be  an  injury  and  a 
hindrance  to  him  in  his  religious  endeavors.  I 
had  never  heard  or  suspected  that  he  was  an  in- 
temperate man.     Probably  the  idea  never  would 


376  THE     BROWN     JUG. 

have  occurred  to  me  that  strong  drink  misrht  be 
his  hindrance,  had  I  not  been  utterly  unable  to  ac- 
count for  his  stationary  condition  in  respect  to  re- 
ligion. I  instantly  resolved  to  speak  to  him  on 
that  subject.  Bat  it  was  an  awkward  business. 
I  did  not  know  how  to  begin.  I  would  not  insult 
him,  and  I  did  not  wish  to  injure  his  feelings. 
He  was  an  old  man,  near  sixty — old  enough  to  be 
my  father.  And  to  suggest  the  idea,  that  he 
might  be  guilty  of  any  excess,  would  seem  to  be 
cruel  and  uncalled  for.  Bat  I  thought  it  my  duty 
to  make  some  inquiry.     So  I  began  : — 

"  Mr.  E.,  where  are  you  going  this  morning  ?" 
"  I  am  going  to  the  village — to  the  store." 
"  I  see  you  have  got  a  jug  there,  under   your 
seat ;  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  ?" 

He  cast  his  eye  down  upon  it,  a  little  confused, 
for  an  instant,  as  I  thought ;  but  he  immediately 
replied  : — 

"  I  am  going  to  get  some  rum  in  it." 
"  Are  you  accustomed  to  drink  rum  ?" 
"  I  never  drink  any,  to  hurt  me." 
"  You  never  drink  any,  to  do  you  any  good." 
"  I  have  thought  it  did,  sometimes.     I  do  not 
drink  much." 

"  Do  you  drink  it  every  day  ?" 
"  No,  not  every  day,  commonly.     We  had  none 
to  use  in  the  field,  this  year,  in  all  our  haying,  till 
we  came  to  the  wet  meadow  ;  when  the  boys  said 


THE     BROWN     JUG.  377 

wo  should  get  the  fever,  if  we  worked  with  our  feet 
wet,  and  had  nothing  to  drink." 

"  So  you  have  used  it,  since  that  time.  You 
carry  it  into  the  field,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes;  we  commonly  do,  in  haying  and  harvest." 

"  Well ;  at  other  times  of  the  year,  do  you  keep 
it  on  hand,  in  your  house  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  always  keep  it.  But  it  is  only  a  little 
that  I  drink  ;  sometimes  a  glass  of  bitters,  in  the 
morning, — or,  when  I  am  not  well,  and  feel  that  I 
need  something." 

"  Mr.  E.,  when  you  are  perplexed,  annoyed,  or 
in  some  trouble ;  do  you  never  take  a  drink,  on 
that  account  ?" 

"  I  am  very  apt  to.     It  seems  to  keep  me  up." 

"  Well,  now,  just  tell  me  :  for  a  good  many 
months  back,  since  you  have  been  troubled  on  the 
subject  of  religion,  have  you  been  accustomed  to 
resort  to  it,  '  to  keep  you  up  V  " 

"  Yes  ;  at  times.     I  feel  the  need  of  it." 

"  In  my  opinion,  that  is  the  worst  thing,  my 
dear  friend,  that  you  could  do  /" 

"  Why,  I  only  drink  a  little,  at  home.  I  have 
•not  carried  it  into  the  field,  except  in  haying 
time." 

"  So  I  understand  it.  But  one  question  more  : 
Have  you  not  often,  at  home,  when  you  have  felt 
downcast  in  mind,  on  account  of  sin,  taken  a 
drink,  because  you  felt  thus  troubled  ?" 

32* 


378  THE     BROWN     JUG. 

"  I  believe  I  have  done  it  sometimes.  I  cannot 
tell  how  often.     I  never  thought  much  about  it." 

I  had  become  convinced  by  this  time,  that  he 
was,  at  least,  in  danger ;  and  that  it  was  not  at 
all  an  improbable  thing,  that  his  drinking  just 
kept  him  from  repentance.  I  told  him  so ;  and 
then  began,  with  all  my  sagacity  and  power  of 
persuasion,  to  induce  him  to  quit  all  intoxicating 
drinks  forever.  At  first,  he  appeared  not  to  be- 
lieve me  at  all.  He  heard  me,  just  as  if  he  had 
made  up  his  mind,  and  did  not  care  what  I  said. 
His  eyes  wandered  carelessly  around,  over  the 
fields  and  trees,  and  then  turned  upon  his  old 
horse,  as  if  he  was  impatient  to  start  on,  and  get 
out  of  the  way  of  a  lecture  which  he  disbelieved. 
After  a  time,  however,  and  while  I  was  stating  to 
him  some  facts  within  my  own  knowledge,  to 
show  the  uselessness  of  strong  drink,  he  became 
apparently  interested  in  what  I  was  saying.  He 
listened,  and  I  went  on  with  my  plea.  As  I  ex- 
plained the  effect  of  intoxicating  drink  upon  the 
mind,  and  upon  the  feelings,  and  the  conscience 
of  men,  he  hung  down  his  head,  and  appeared  to 
be  lost  in  thought.  After  a  while,  as  I  kept  talk- 
ing, he  cast  a  glance  at  his  jug  ;  then  looked  up  ; 
and  then  his  eyes  fell  back  upon  his  jug  again.  I 
kept  reasoning  with  him  ;  but  he  did  not  look  at 
me  any  longer, — he  did  not  appear  to  be  thinking 
of  what  I  was  saying.     He  appeared  rather  to  be 


THE     BROWN     JUG.  370 

engaged  in  deep  thought ;  and  his  eye  often  turn- 
ed upon  his  jug.  By-and-by  he  slowly  reached 
down  his  hand,  and  took  hold  of  it.  "With  a  very 
solemn  countenance,  and  without  saying  a  word, 
— (he  .had  not  spoken  for  half  an  hour,) — he 
placed  the  brown  jug  upon  his  knee.  I  talked  on, 
watching  his  silent  motions.  He  turned  his  head 
very  deliberately  around,  one  way  and  the  other, 
as  ^if  he  were  looking  for  something  ;  his  eyes 
glancing  here  and  there,  as  if  he  did  not  see 
what  he  desired.     I  kept  on  talking  to  him. 

Just  at  the  spot  where  we  were,  the  road  swept 
politely  round  a  huge  stone,  or  side  of  a  rock, 
which  rose  about  ten  feet  above  the  path ;  and  as 
those  who  built  the  road  could  not  get  it  out  of 
the  way,  the  path  made  rather  a  short  turn  round 
it.  This  rock  was  within  three  feet  of  his  wagon. 
His  eye  fixed  upon  it,  and  then  glanced  back  to 
the  jug  upon  his  knee.  Then  he  looked  at  the 
rock,  and  then  at  his  jug  again,  and  then  at  me. 
And  thus  his  eye  continued  to  wander  from  one 
to  another  of  these  three  objects,  as  if  it  could  not 
get  beyond  them.  At  first,  I  was  in  some  doubt 
which  of  the  three  was  the  most  attractive  to  his 
eye, — the  rock,  the  brown  jug,  or  myself.  But  in 
a  little  time  I  noticed  that  his  eye  rested  on  the 
brown  jug  longer  than  on  me.  At  length  /  was 
lost  sight  of  altogether,  (though  I  continued  talk- 
ing to  him,)  and  his  eye  glanced  backwards  and 


380 


THE     BROWN     JUG. 


forwards,  from  the  brown  jag  to  the  rock,  and 
from  the  rock  to  the  brown  jug.  All  this  time  he 
maintained  an  unbroken  silence,  and  I  kept  on 
with  my  lecture. 

Finally  he  seized  the  poor  jug  by  its  side, 
wrapping  the  long  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  half 
round  it,  and  slowly  rising  from  his  seat,  he 
stretched  up  his  tall  frame  to  its  full  length,  and 
lifting  the  brown  jug  aloft,  as  high  as  his  long  arm 
could  reach,  he  hurled  it,  with  all  his  might, 
against  the  rock,  dashing  it  into  a  thousand 
pieces.  "  Wlwa !  whoa !  whoa  /"  (said  he  to 
the  old  horse.)  "Hold  on  here.  Whoa!  whoa! 
Turn  about  here.  "Whoa  !  "We  will  go  home 
now." — The  horse  had  suddenly  started  forwards, 
frightened  at  the  clatter  of  the  brown  jug,  and 
the  pieces  which  bounded  back  against  his  legs 
and  side.  The  start  was  very  sudden ;  and  as 
my  long  friend  was  standing  up,  it  came  near  to 
pitch  his  tall  figure  out  of  the  wagon  backwards. 
However,  he  did  not  fall.  As  he  cried  "  whoa ! 
whoa  !"  he  put  back  his  long  arm  upon  the  side 
of  the  wagon,  and  saved  himself.  He  soon  stop- 
ped his  old  horse  ;  and  deliberately  turning  him 
round  in  the  street,  till  he  got  him  headed  towards 
home,  he  put  on  the  whip,  and  without  saying  a 
word  to  me,  or  even  casting  a  parting  look,  he 
drove  off  like  Jehu.  I  drove  on  after  him  as  fast 
as  I  could  ;  but  I  could  not  catch  him.     He  flew 


THE     BROWN     JUG.  381 

over  the  road.  And  when  I  passed  his  house, 
about  a  mile  from  the  jug-rock,  he  was  stripping 
off  the  harness,  in  a  great  hurry.  We  exchanged 
a  parting  bow,  as  I  drove  by  ;  and  I  never  spake 
to  him  about  rum  afterwards. 

Within  a  single  month  from  this  time,  that 
man  became,  as  he  believed,  a  child  of  (rod.  His 
gloom  and  fears  were  gone ;  and  he  had  peace,  by 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ. 

About  a  month  afterwards,  as  I  passed  the  spot, 
where  such  a  catastrophe  came  upon  the  jug,  and 
where  my  long  friend  came  so  near  to  be  toppled 
out  of  his  wagon ;  I  noticed  that  some  one  had 
gathered  up  some  pieces  of  the  unfortunate  brown 
jug,  and  placed  them  high  up,  on  a  shoulder  of 
the  rock.  I  saw  them  lying  there  many  times 
afterwards ;  and  thought  that  my  friend  had  prob- 
ably  placed  them  there,  as  an  affecting  memorial 
— He  might  have  done  a  worse  thing. 


THE  HARVEST  PAST; 

OR,   THE   DYING   UNIVER  S  ALIST. 


More  than  sixteen  years  have  now  passed  away, 
since  the  occurrence,  of  which  I  am  now  to  write, 
made  its  first  impression  upon  me :  but  I  am  still 
unable  to  recall  the  scene  to  my  mind,  without 
the  most  painful  emotions.  There  was  something 
in  that  whole  scene  too  horrible  for  description. 
And  I  would  much  rather,  were  I  to  consult  my 
own  feelings,  pass  it  over  in  silence,  and  let  a  veil 
be  drawn  over  it  forever,  than  have  the  recollec- 
tion revived  by  copying  the  notes  made  respecting 
it.  But  several  of  my  friends  have  urged  the  pub- 
lication ;  and  I  yield  to  their  judgment. 

I  was  hastily  summoned  to  the  bedside  of  a  sick 
man,  by  the  urgent  request  of  his  mother.  He 
was  yet  a  young  man,  I  suppose  about  twenty-six 
years  of  age,  was  married,  and  the  father  of  one 
little  child.  I  had  never  spoken  to  him.  I  knew 
there  was  such  a  man,  but  I  did  not  know  him 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  383 

personally.  His  mother,  who  was  a  communicant 
in  the  church,  had  often  mentioned  him  to  me  ; 
and  his  wife,"  who  was  a  woman  of  very  serious 
turn  of  mind,  though  very  modest  and  'reserved, 
had  sometimes  mentioned  to  me  her  husband,  in  a 
manner  that  showed  me,  that  his  treatment  of  the 
subject  of  religion  was  a  matter  of  sorrow  to  her. 
But  I  had  no  personal  acquaintance  with  him. 
Whenever  I  had  visited  the  family,  he  had  either 
been  absent  from  home,  or  intentionally  ke^t  him- 
self out  of  my  sight, — which,  as  I  suppose,  he  had 
often  done.  Sometimes,  but  very  rarely,  I  had 
seen  him  at  church,  not  knowing,  at  the  time, 
who  he  was.  And  I  did  not  suppose  he  had  ever 
been  in  church  for  years ;  till,  when  I  saw  him  on 
his  sick  bed,  I  recognized  him  as  one  whom  I  had 
seen  in  church,  and  had  taken  for  a  stranger.  He 
was  an  industrious  man,  prosperous  in  his  busi- 
ness, and  as  a  man  of  the  world,  bore  a  good 
character. 

His  father  was  a  Universalist,  and  the  son  had 
imbibed  his  principles.  I  had  known  this  before. 
His  mother  had  mentioned  it  to  me,  with  much 
sorrow.  She  had  also  requested  me  to  converse 
with  the  old  man,  her  husband,  and  I  had  more 
than  once  attempted  to  do  so  ;  but  he  very  soon 
excused  himself  by  pretending,  that  his  business 
was  urgent,  and  he  could  not  spend  the  time.  I 
had  also  known  him  to  leave  the  house  and  go  off 


384  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

into  the  field,  when  he  knew  that  I  had  called  to 
see  his  family,  and  when  he  had  good  reason  to 
suppose,  that  I  would  request  to  see  him.  I  have 
no  doubt  that  he  did  this,  on  purpose  to  avoid  me. 
His  son,  who  was  now  sick,  had  also,  as  I  suppose, 
avoided  me  in  the  same  manner.  He  still  resided 
in  the  house  with  his  parents,  who  had  also 
another  son,  a  lad  about  twelve  years  of  age. 
These  persons,  with  an  infant  child  of  the  sick 
man,  made  up  the  whole  household. 

As  I  approached  the  house,  I  was  startled  at  the 
groans  of  the  sick  man.  I  could  hear  them  dis- 
tinctly into  the  street.  As  I  entered  the  door,  his 
mother  met  me,  calm  in  her  deportment,  but  evi- 
dently in  the  most  heart-rending  distress.  She 
looked  the  very  image  of  woe.  She  briefly  told 
me  how  her  son  was  ;  and  it  was  very  easy  to  per- 
ceive, that  she  expected  he  would  die.  She  did 
not  wish  him  to  know,  that  I  had  come  at  her  re- 
quest. She  had  not  told  him  that  I  was  coming. 
But  she  desired  me  to  go  in  immediately,  and  con- 
verse with  him  and  pray  with  him. 

As  I  entered  the  sick  man's  room,  and  as  she 
called  my  name  and  told  him  that  I  had  come  to 
see  him  ;  he  cast  a  sudden  look  at  me,  appeared 
startled,  and  turned  away  his  face  towards  the 
wall,  without  uttering  a  word — as  if  he  regarded 
me  with  horror.  I  approached  him  familiarly  and 
kindly,  offered  him  my  hand,  which  he  seemed  re- 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  385 

luctant  to  take,  and  feeling  his  feverish  pulse, 
aimed  to  soothe  him,  as  much  as  I  could. 

He  had  been  taken  suddenly  ill  with  a  fever, 
accompanied  with  violent  pain  in  the  chest,  back 
and  head.  He  was  in  the  most  excruciating 
agony,  tossing  from  side  to  side,  and  his  groaning 
and  shrieks  would  have  pierced  any  heart.  He 
was  a  large,  robust  man,  and  his  whole  appear- 
ance indicated  £f  vigor  of  constitution  seldom 
equalled.  His  gigantic  frame  was  yet  in  its  full 
strength,  and  as  he  writhed  in  his  spasms  of 
pain,  I  thought  I  had  never  seen  such  an  instance 
of  the  power  of  disease.  This  man  of  might  was 
shaken  and  tossed,  like  a  helpless  leaf. 

When  he  became  a  little  more  quiet,  I  inquired 
about  his  sufferings,  and  aimed  to  soothe  and  en- 
courage him,  expressing  the  hope  that  he  might 
soon  be  relieved.  In  an  accent  of  intolerable 
agony,  he  exclaimed  ; — "  Oh  !  I  shall  die  !  I  shall 
die  /" 

"  I  hope  not,"  said  I,  "  by  this  sickness.  I  see 
no  reason  why  you  should  not  get  well.  And  I 
think  the  doctor  will  be  able  to  relieve  you  in  a 
few  hours." 

"  The  doctor  has  done  what  he  could,"  said  he, 
"  my  time  has  come!  I  cannot  live!  Oh!  I 
shall  die  !"  And  raising  himself  up  suddenly, 
leaning  for  a  moment  upon  his  elbow,  he  threw 
himself  back  upon  the  bed  and  drew  the  cover- 

33 


386  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

ing  over  his  face,  holding  it  there  with  both  his 
hands. 

I  again  attempted  to  soothe  his  agitation,  gently 
requesting  him  to  be  as  quiet  as  possible,  and  as- 
suring him  I  did  not  think,  that  the  doctor  regard- 
ed his  case  as  hopeless.  "Whether  he  gave  any  at- 
tention to  my  words  I  could  not  tell;  for  he  kept 
his  head  buried  in  the  bed  clothes,  and  firmly  re- 
sisted the  gentle  attempts  of  %is  wife  and  his 
mother  to  remove  them.  In  this  manner  he  lay 
for  several  minutes,  still  groaning  as  in  agony.  I 
asked  him  several  questions,  but  he  made  me  no 
answer. 

Thinking  that  he  might  perhaps  feel  em- 
barrassed at  my  presence,  after  speaking  to  him 
for  a  few  moments,  I  took  my  seat  in  another  part 
of  the  room,  and  conversed  familiarly  with  his 
wife  and  his  mother,  aiming  to  remove  his  embar- 
rassment, if  he  had  any,  by  proposing  something 
for  his  relief,  and  by  such  an  ease  and  familiarity, 
as  should  lead  him  to  regard  me  as  a  friend.  This 
had  the  desired  effect.  He  gradually  removed  the 
bed-clothes  from  his  burning  face,  and  attentively 
listened  to  our  conversation.  With  an  imploring 
and  despairing  look,  he  stared  at  his  wife,  and 
then  at  his  mother.  Time  after  time,  his  fixed 
gaze  was  turned  from  the  one  to  the  other ;  but  I 
noticed,  his  eyes  never  rested  on  me.  He  seemed 
to  avoid  looking  at  me.     If  his  mother  or  his  wife 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  387 

spoke,  his  eyes  would  turn  upon  them  at  the 
sound  of  the  voice  ;  but  if  he  heard  a  word  from 
me,  he  did  not  notice  me  at  all. 

I  had  retired  from  his  bed-side  and  taken  my 
seat  by  the  window,  as  I  thought  that  would  be  a 
more  delicate  mode,  than  to  stand  by  him,  at  least 
for  a  few  minutes.  He  became  more  composed, 
and  entirely  still.  After  he  had  uncovered  his  face 
and  listened  for  a  few  minutes,  I  rose  to  approach 
him.  His  mother,  anticipating  my  design,  and  as 
I  thought  sensible  of  his  reluctance  to  speak  to 
me,  rose  and  approached  him  before  me.  Calling 
him  gently  by  name,  she  told  him,  that  I  had 
come  to  see  him,  and  inquired  if  he  "  would  not 
like  to  have  me  pray  with  him."  Instantly, 
stretching  both  his  hands  towards  the  heavens, 
he  raised  himself  on  his  bed,  and  holding  his  hands 
still  aloft,  as  far  as  he  could  reach,  he  uttered  the 
single  syllable,  "  oh  /"  with  a  dreadfulness  of  ac- 
cent and  a  prolongation  of  the  sound,  which  made 
my  blood  curdle  in  my  veins.  His  wife  and 
mother  turned  pale — the  former  sinking  into  a 
chair  from  which  she  had  just  risen.  This  sudden 
and  singular  action  of  the  sick  man  led  me  to  be- 
lieve he  was  in  an  agony  of  mind.  It  did  not 
seem  like  the  action  of  bodily  distress.  It  was  al- 
together different.  Thinking  it  the  best  way  to 
induce  him  to  express  his  feelings  to  me,  I  in- 
quired : — 


388  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

"  Has  your  pain  returned  ?" 

Still  holding  his  hands  aloft,  and  without  look- 
ing at  me,  he  exclaimed  in  a  tone  of  horror,  "  oh  ! 
oh!  oh!" 

"  Are  you  in  great  pain  ?"  I  asked. 

Another  groan  was  his  only  answer. 

"lam  sorry  to  find  you  so  ill,"  said  I. 

He  uttered  another  groan — a  dreadful  shriek  ! 

His  wife  sobbing  aloud  left  the  room. 

I  then  said  to  him,  "  God  is  merciful.  He  is 
the  hearer  of  prayer  ;  and  if  you  are" — 

"  Oh  /"  was  the  dreadful  sound  from  his  quiver- 
ing lips  which  interrupted  me  ;  it  was  a  shriek, 
which  rang  through  the  house ;  and  every  one  of 
the  family  hurried  into  the  room  where  he  was. 
Among  others  was  his  little  brother,  who  was  the 
only  one  he  seemed  to  notice.  He  glanced,  once 
or  twice,  at  him,  and  thinking  he  was  about  to 
speak  to  him,  T  remained  silent.  As  he  sat  thus 
erect  in  his  bed,  with  his  hands  stretched  aloft  to 
the  utmost  of  his  power,  his  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy 
before  him,  and  his  lips  uttering  only  his  dreadful 
monosyllable,  as  a  scream  apparently  of  horror,  he 
was  the  most  pitiful  object  my  eyes  ever  beheld. 

"Shall  I  pray  with  you  ?"  said  I. 

He  flung  himself  back  violently  upon  his  bed, 
turned  his  face  away  from  me  towards  the  wall, 
and  again  drew  the  clothes  over  his  head.  We 
knelt  by  his  bed-side,  and  continued  some  time  in 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  389 

prayer.  He  had  not  spoken  to  me  at  all.  But  it 
appeared  to  me,  that  his  agony  was  quite  as  much 
mental  as  bodily ;  and  I  aimed  to  pray  in  such  a 
manner,  that  he  might  be  soothed  and  encouraged 
by  the  idea  of  the  mercy  of  God  towards  sinners, 
through  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  During  prayer  he 
remained  entirely  still ;  but  I  could  distinctly  hear 
his  deep  breathing,  and  feel  the  bed  shake,  as  a 
long  breath  rushed  from  his  lungs.  I  continued 
in  prayer  for  some  six  or  eight  minutes,  I  suppose, 
longer  than  I  should  have  done,  had  not  this  exer- 
cise appeared  to  quiet  him,  and  had  it  not  been  the 
only  mode,  by  which  I  appeared  to  be  able  to 
make  any  religious  idea  find  access  to  his  mind. 

When  we  rose  from  our  knees,  his  face  was  un- 
covered ;  and  turning  his  eyes  upon  me,  then 
upon  his  mother,  then  back  upon  me  again,  he 
seemed  to  be  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  me,  and 
I  stood  by  him  in  silence.  With  a  look  and  tone 
of  decision,  he  exclaimed — as  he  fixed  his  eyes 
firmly  upon  me  : — 

"  It  will  do  no  good  to  pray  for  me,  sir." 

I  waited  for  him  to  say  more,  but  as  he  did  not 
appear  to  be  inclined  to  do  so,  I  replied : — 

"  Grod  is  the  hearer  of  prayer :  he  has  encour- 
aged us  to  pray  to  him  :  he  has  not  said,  that  it 
will  do  no  good  to  pray." 

"  My  day  has  gone  by !"  said  he.  "It  is  too 
late  for  me  ! — it  is  too  late  !" 


390    ■  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

"  No,  sir  ;  it  is  net  too  late.  If  you  want  God's 
mercy,  you  may  have  it.  God  himself  says  so  : 
'  "Whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life 
freely.'  You  ought  to  think  of  the  death  of  Christ 
for  sinners, — of  the  mercy  of  God." 

"  Merc?/  !  mercy  /"  he  vociferated  ;  "  that  is 
what  makes  my  situation  so  dreadful  !  I  have 
despised  mercy  !  I  have  scoffed  at  God  !  I  have 
refused  Christ!  If  God  was  only  just,  I  could 
bear  it.  But  now  the  thought  of  his  abused 
mercy  is  worst  of  all !  There  is  no  mercy  for  me 
any  longer  !  For  years  I  have  refused  Christ ! 
My  day  has  gone  by  !     I  am  lost !  I  am  lost !" 

"  You  think  wrong,"  said  I,  "  God  has  not 
limited  his  invitations.  Christ  says,  '  Come  unto 
me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden.' " 

"  My  day  has  gone  by  !"  said  he. 

"  No ;  it  has  not"  I  replied,  in  a  voice  as  firm 
as  his  own  :  "  behold  now  is  the  accepted  time — 
now  is  the  day  of  salvation." 

"  That  is  not  for  me  /"  said  he  :  "I  have  had 
my  time  and  lost  it !  I  have  spent  all  my  life 
for  nothing !  I  have  been  a  fool  all  my  days,  and 
now  I  am  dying  !  I  have  sought  for  nothing  but 
this  world !  I  have  refused  to  attend  to  God,  and 
now  he  has  taken  hold  of  me,  and  I  cannot  es- 
cape !"  (The  family,  much  affected,  retired  from 
the  room.) 

"  You  have  time  still  to  seek  him,  to  repent 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  391 

and  flee  to  Christ.  You  have  time  now— to-day . 
The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  from  all  sin. 
Pray  to  Grod.     You  may  be  saved." 

"  You  think  so,"  said  he ;  "  but  I  know  better 
— I  know  better !  It  is  too  late  !  I  am  dying, 
sir  !" 

"  Christ  accepted  the  dying  thief,"  said  I. 
"  God  is  so  rich  in  mercy,  that  he  pardons  sinners 
at  the  eleventh  hour." 

u  The  eleventh  hour  is  past !"  said  he.  "  This 
is  the  tivelfth  hour !  (rod's  time  of  vengeance 
has  come  !  I  have  had  my  time,  and  lost  it !  It 
is  all  gone  !  I  have  loved  the  world  only,  and 
now  I  must  leave  it !  Oh  !  fool !  fool !  "What  is 
the  world  to  me  ?  Oh  !  how  could  I  live  so  ?  I 
have  been  a  fool  all  my  days !" 

He  uttered  these  desponding  expressions  in  the 
most  firm  and  decisive  tone.  And  as  I  was  aim- 
ing to  convince  him  of  the  mercy  of  Grod,  and  re- 
ferring to  the  scriptures,  all  I  could  say  did  not 
seem  to  weigh  a  feather  with  him. 

His  wife  and  his  mother  hearing  our  conversa- 
tion, had  returned  to  the  room,  and  seated  them- 
selves, in  silence,  at  a  distance  from  his  bed. 
And  just  as  he  was  uttering  some  exclamations 
about  his  love  of  the  world,  and  his  folly,  his 
father  entered  the  room,  and  hearing  his  expres- 
sions for  a  little  while,  he  approached  the  bed,  say- 
ing to  him : — 


392  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

"  Why,  you  need  not  feel  so  bad :  you  have 
never  done  any  hurt  to  anybody." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  father,"  said  he,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  or  rather  of  hatred  and  anger. 
"  You  have  been  my  worst  enemy  !  You  have 
ruined  me  !  You  led  me  to  disobey  God,  and 
neglect  the  Bible !  You  led  me  into  sin  when  I 
was  only  a  .little  boy !  You  took  me  off  to  fish 
and  hunt,  Sundays,  and  stroll  around  the  fields, 
when  mother  wanted  me  to  go  to  church.  You 
told  me  there  was  no  hell,  that  all  men  would  be 
saved.  And  don't  come  here  now  to  try  to  deceive 
me  any  longer !  You  have  done  your  work ! 
You  have  been  my  ruin  ! — Oh  !  if  I  had  minded 
mother,  and  not  you,  I  should  not  have  come  to 
such  an  end  ! — Don't  cry,  mother,  don't  cry  so," — 
(he  heard  her  sobbing.)  "You  are  a  good  woman: 
you  have  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  God  will  take 
care  of  you.  Don't  cry  so.  Oh !  I  would  give  a 
thousand  worlds,  if  I  owned  them,  to  have  your 
religion — or  any  part  of  it — or  anything  like  it ! 
But  I  am  lost !  I  am  lost ! — You  told  me,  father, 
there  was  no  hell,  and  I  tried  to  believe  it.  I 
joined  you  in  wickedness,  when  I  knew  better. 
I  have  laughed  at  hell ;  and  now  hell  laughs  at 
me !  God  will  punish  sinners !  He  has  taken 
hold  of  me,  and  I  cannot  get  out  of  his  hands !" 

His  father  attempted  to  say  something  to  him  ; 
but  the  son  would  not  allow  him  to  finish  a  single 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  393 

sentence.  The  moment  he  began  to  speak,  the 
son  exclaimed  : — 

"  Quit,  father  !  Don't  talk  to  me  !  Your  lies 
cannot  deceive  me  any  longer  !  You  have  ruined 
my  soul ! — Where  is  my  brother  ?" 

As  he  made  this  inquiry,  his  wife  rose,  and 
coming  near  to  the  bed-side,  replied  : — 

"  He  is  out  in  the  garden,  I  believe.  What  do 
you  want  of  him  ?  shall  I  call  him  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  call  him.  He  is  young.  I  want  to  tell 
him  not  to  believe  what  father  says  to  him — not 
to  be  influenced  by  him.  He  will  lead  him  to 
hell.  Now,  when  he  is  young,  I  want  him  to 
know  what  Universalists  say  is  false.  I  don't 
want  him  to  be  led  into  sin,  as  father  led  me.  1 
want  him  to  believe  what  mother  says  to  him  ; 
and  read  the  Bible  ;  and  pray,  before  praying  is  too 
late  ;  and  not  break  the  Sabbath  day  ;  and  attend 
church  ;  so  that  he  may  not  die  as  I  am  dying." 

His  father,  looking  at  me,  remarked  : — 

"  He  has  had  so  much  fever  and  pain,  that  his 
mind  is  not  regular." 

"  Father !  I  am  no  more  crazy  than  you  are  ! 
You  need  not  deceive  yourself  with  that  notion ! 
But  you  are  not  deceived.  You  know  better  ! 
You  try  to  deceive  yourself,  just  as  you  try  to  be- 
lieve there  is  no  hell.  You  pretend,  that  all  men 
will  be  saved  ;  but  you  don't  believe  it.  You  led 
me  to  talk   in  the  same  way,  and  laugh  at  the 


394  THE     HARVEST     l  a.S  T. 

warnings  in  the  Bible  against  sinners.  When  I 
was  a  little  boy,  you  began  to  lead  me  into  sin ! 
Don't  come  here  to  torment  me  with  your  false- 
hoods now,  when  I  am  dying  !" 

At  this  moment,  his  little  brother,  about  twelve 
years  of  age,  whom  he  had  asked  for,  entered  the 
room.  Calling  him  by  name,  and  looking  tenderly 
upon  him,  vastly  different  from  the  look  he  had 
just  bent  upon  his  father,  he  said  : — 

"  Come  here,  my  brother.  I  am  going  to  die, 
very  soon ;  and  1  want  to  tell  you  something.  I 
want  you  should  remember  it  after  I  am  dead. 
You  are  young  now,  and  I  want  you  to  begin  to 
live  in  the  right  way.  I  have  been  a  very  wicked 
man.  Don't  do  as  I  have  done.  Read  the  Bible. 
Never  swear,  or  take  Grod's  name  in  vain.  Al- 
ways go  to  church,  Sundays.  Always  mind  what 
mother  says  to  you.  Father  will  lead  you  into  a 
very  bad  way,  if  you  are  not  very  careful.  He 
led  me  into  sin,  when  I  was  a  little  boy,  like  you. 
He  has  led  me  to  ruin,  because  I  was  fool  enough 
to  yield  to  him.  If  I  had  done  as  mother  wanted 
me  to,  I  might  nave  died  in  peace.  She  is  a  good 
woman. — Don't  cry,  mother,  do  not  cry  so  :"  (sob- 
bing aloud  she  left  the  room:) — "  If  father  ever  says 
there  is  no  hell  for  the  wicked,  don't  believe  him. 
There  is  an  awful  hell !  Remember  that  I  told 
you  so,  when  I  was  dying  !  If  father  ever  says, 
that  all  men   will  be  saved,  never  believe  a  word 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  395 

of  it.  The  wicked  will  be  turned  into  hell !  Dear 
boy !  It  is  a  pity  that  he  should  be  led  to  ruin. 
Never  believe  what  the  Universalists  say.  Believe 
vour  mother  ;  and  don't  let  father  lead  you  into 
sin.  Be  a  good  boy.  If  I  could  live,  I  would  tell 
you  more  another  time.     But  I  must  die  !" 

The  young  brother  had  stood  by  him  weeping, 
manifestly  struggling  hard  to  control  his  emotions, 
till  entirely  overcome  he  cried  aloud  in  a  burst  of 
grief,  and  rushed  out  of  the  room. 

While  he  was  talking  to  his  little  brother,  the 
father  listened  for  a  time,  apparently  unmoved, 
and  then  with  a  sort  of  stealthy  tread  went  out. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  affecting  scenes.  His 
mother,  who  had  returned  again  to  the  room,  his 
wife  and  myself,  subdued  to  tears,  sat  for  some 
time  in  silence.  It  was  enough  to  melt  a  heart  of 
rock.  But  the  sick  man  never  shed  a  tear.  I 
had  hoped,  when  he  spake  so  tenderly  to  his 
mother,  and  when  he  began  to  talk  so  affectingly 
to  his  little  brother,  that  his  own  sensibilities 
would  have  been  excited  in  a  tender  manner,  and 
be  a  means  of  overcoming  the  stern  and  dreadful 
stubbornness  of  his  resolute  despair.  But  there 
was  none  of  this.  His  voice  never  faltered.  His 
eye  never  moistened.  His  burning  brow  never 
quivered. 

I  again  attempted  to  converse  with  him ;  but 
he  manifested  no  disposition  to  hear  me.     He  did 


396  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

not  even  reply  to  any  question.  Recollecting  how 
he  had  appeared  a  little  while  before,  when  I 
prayed  by  his  side,  I  proposed  to  him,  that  I  would 
make  a  short  prayer  with  him,  before  I  left  him. 

"  Not  here !"  said  he,  firmly.  "  Pray  in  the 
other  room,  if  you  wish  to  pray.  Do  not  pray 
here.  I  cannot  pray.  And  I  will  not  pretend  it. 
I  am  beyond  praying.  My  day  is  gone  by  !  The 
harvest  is  past !  Mother,  I  wish  you  would  go  into 
the  other  room,  if  you  want  to  pray." 

We  retired  to  another  room,  where  we  found  his 
father,  who  had  probably  heard  all  that  he  had 
said.  The  old  man  appeared  to  be  unaffected. 
And  when  I  spake  to  him  about  the  necessity  of 
preparation  for  death,  he  seemed  as  indifferent  as 
a  stone.  As  the  rest  of  us  kneeled  in  prayer,  he 
sat  looking  out  of  the  window. 

Before  I  left  the  house,  I  returned  again  to  the 
room  of  the  sick  man.  He  appeared  very  uneasy 
and  restless,  but  I  did  not  think  his  pain  was 
bodily.  The  doctor  came  in,  felt  his  pulse,  asked 
some  questions,  prescribed  for  him  ;  and  saying  he 
thought  he  would  "  be  better  to-morrow,"  left 
him. 

"  I  shall  be  dead,  to  morrow,"  said  he,  firmly, 
without  changing  his  position,  or  appearing  to  re- 
gard the  presence  of  any  one. 

Briefly  assuring  him  again  of  the  mercy  of  God, 
the  readiness  of  Chist  to  save  him,  and  exhorting 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  397 

him  to  prayer,  I  bade  him  good-bye,  (to  which  he 
made  no  answer,)  and  left  him. 

After  I  was  gone,  (as  I  afterwards  learnt,)  he 
remained  very  much  silent,  seldom  even  replying 
to  any  question,  but,  from  time  to  time,  tossing 
from  side  to  side,  and  groaning  aloud.  His  father 
brought  him  a  paper,  (as  I  was  told,)  which  he 
wished  him  to  sign  as  his  will.  He  refused  to 
sign  it.  Again  the  father  brought  it.  It  was  read 
to  him.  Witnesses  were  called.  He  refused  to 
sign  it.  "  Father,"  said  he,  fiercely,  "  you  have 
led  me  into  sin,  into  the  snares  of  the  devil ;  you 
have  ruined  me  forever  !  And  now  you  want  me 
to  sign  that  paper,  to  take  away  from  my  wife  and 
child  all  their  support !  You  know  it  would  not 
be  right  for  me  to  sign  it.     Take  it  away  !" 

Repeatedly  during  the  night,  his  father  urged 
him  to  sign  that  will.  He  steadily  refused  to  do 
so,  and  sometimes  stated  the  reasons  for  his  refu- 
sal. But  at  last,  the  son  signed  it,  wearied  out 
with  the  ceaseless  importunity,  or  what  is  more 
probable,  in  a  moment  of  insanity,  unconscious  of 
what  he  was  doing.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  will 
was  set  aside  afterwards  by  the  court. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  returned  to  see  him. 
The  doctor  had  just  left  him,  still  giving  his  friends 
encouragement  that  he  would  recover,  though  he 
said  he  had  "  not  expected  to  find  him  so  bad  as 
he  was,  but  his  symptoms  were  not  unfa vor able." 

34 


398  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

I  suppose  he  formed  his  opinion  without  regard  to 
the  state  of  the  sick  man's  mind ;  and  on  this 
ground  I  have  not  a  doubt  his  opinion  was  right. 

As  I  entered  the  room,  I  was  struck  with  his 
altered  appearance.  He  looked  ten  years  older 
than  when  I  left  him,  the  previous  afternoon.  He 
was  evidently  fast  approaching  his  end.  His  voice 
was  sunken  and  husky — his  breathing  short  and 
labored — his  strength  diminished — his  look  wild 
and  delirious.  He  talked  incoherently,  his  words 
running  upon  all  strange  matters  by  tarns,  as  I 
understood  had  been  the  case  with  him  at  times, 
through  the  whole  night. 

He  had  manifestly  some  lucid  intervals.  In  one 
of  them  I  attempted  to  converse  with  him,  but  he 
did  not  appear  to  regard  me  at  all.  I  offered  to 
pray  with  him,  and  he  answered  : — 

"  Prayer  comes  too  late  now — the  harvest  is 
past !"  He  immediately  turned  himself  on  the  bed 
with  a  distressing  shriek,  and  lay  with  his  face 
towards  the  wall ;  and  a  moment  afterwards  his 
lips  were  vocal  with  delirious  ravings  !  I  may  not 
here  record  what  he  said  in  his  delirium ;  but  it 
may  be  remarked,  that  his  thoughts  seemed  to 
run  much  upon  his  father,  in  an  unhappy  man- 
ner. 

I  stayed  in  his  room  for  a  long  time.  When  he 
seemed  to  have  a  lucid  interval,  I  conversed  with 
his  mother  and  wife,  hoping  that  he  might  attend 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  399 

to  what  was  said,  as  he  had  apparently  done  the 
day  before ;  but  he  did  not  seem  to  notice  it. 

I  particularly  noticed  his  manner  towards  those 
who  were  around  him,  as  J  had  done  the  day  be- 
fore. When  his  mind  was  not  wandering,  he  ap- 
peared the  same  as  on  the  previous  day.  He 
would  not  speak  to  his  father,  but  with  great  re- 
luctance, and  as  if  he  detested  him.  He  appeared 
unwilling  to  have  him  in  his  presence.  He  would 
follow  him  with  his  eye,  as  he  came  into  the  room 
or  retired  from  it,  with  a  look  of  hatred.  Towards 
his  mother,  his  manner  was  entirely  different.  He 
spake  to  her  affectionately.  He  would  gaze  upon 
her  for  minutes  together,  with  a  look  of  tenderness 
and  intense  interest.  If  he  saw  her  in  tears,  he 
would  sometimes  strive  to  comfort  her.  He  was 
manifestly  affectionate  towards  his  wife  and  his 
little  brother.  His  eyes  would  rest  upon  them 
with  a  look  of  fondness,  but  fix  upon  his  father 
with  the  look  of  a  fiend. 

After  I  had  retired  from  his  room  for  a  few 
minutes,  we  returned  again,  and  I  found  him 
sinking  so  fast,  that  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  tell 
his  mother  and  his  wife,  that  I  did  not  believe  he 
would  live  out  the  day.  They  seemed  surprised, 
and  immediately  sent  for  the  doctor.-  When  he 
came  he  found  him  dead !  He  had  survived  about 
three  hours  after  I  left  him,  growing  weaker  and 


400  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

we  alter  till  he  breathed  his  last,  with  the  words 
of  delirium  upon  his  lips. 

"  When  the  harvest  is  past,  and  the  summer  is  gone, 

And  sermons  and  prayers  shall  be  o'er ; 
When  the  beams  cease  to  break,  of  the  sweet  Sabbath  morn, 

And  Jesus  invites  thee  no  more ; 
When  the  rich  gales  of  mercy  no  longer  shall  blow, 

The  gospel  no  message  declare ; — 
Sinner,  how  canst  thou  bear  the  deep  wailings  of  wo  I 

How  suffer  the  night  of  despair  ? 

When  the  holy  have  gone  to  the  regions  of  peace, 

To  dwell  in  the  mansions  above  ; 
When  their  harmony  wakes,  in  the  fulness  of  bliss, 

Their  song  to  the  Saviour  they  love  ; — 
Say,  O  sinner,  that  livest  at  rest  and  secure, 

Who  fearest  no  trouble  to  come, 
Can  thy  spirit  the  swellings  of  sorrow  endure ; 

Or  bear  the  impenitent's  doom  ! 

Or  bear  the  impenitent's  doom  !" 

It  does  not  belong  to  us  to  decide  upon  the  con- 
dition of  this  departed  man  ; — but  who  would 
wish  to  die  like  him  ?  "  Let  me  die  the  death  of 
the  righteous ;  let  my  last  end  be  like  his." 


I  have  no  reason  to  suppose,  that  the  religious 
character  of  that  father  was  ever  essentially  al- 
tered.    At   the    funeral  of  his   son   he   appeared 


THE     HARVEST     PAST.  401 

very  muoh  affected,  and  I  hoped  that  his  affliction 
and  the  serious  exercises  of  that  solemn  and  ten- 
der occasion  would  have  an  abiding  and  salutary 
impression  upon  his  mind.  But  when  I  visited 
him  the  next  day,  I  found  him  occupied  with  the 
papers  of  his  son,  and  the  will  which  he  had  in- 
duced him  to  sign  on  the  night  before  his  death ; 
and  though  his  wife  expostulated  with  him 
against  such  an  employment  at  such  a  time,  he 
still  kept  on.  And  afterwards  till  the  day  of  his 
death,  I  never  found  any  reason  to  believe  that  he 
ever  became  a  different  man. 

But  it  was  not  so  with  that  little  brother,  to 
whom  the  dying  man  gave  such  a  solemn  and  af- 
fecting caution.  The  boy  seemed  to  have  treas- 
ured every  word  of  it  in  his  heart.  He  was  very 
respectful  and  obedient  to  his  father,  in  all  things 
but  one.  In  all  that  pertained  to  religion  he  was 
as  fixed  as  a  rook,  against  his  father's  influence. 
He  would  instantly  leave  him,  if  his  father  ut- 
tered a  word  on  that  subject.  He  would  not  be  in- 
duced to  neglect  church  or  violate  the  Sabbath,  by 
any  influence  or  authority  of  his  father.  Without 
explanation  or  words  of  any  sort,  he  would  quiet- 
ly disobey  him,  when  he  thought  his  requirements 
were  contrary  to  the  law  of  Grod ;  while  in  all 
other  things  he  was  most  respectful  and  obedient 
towards  him.  I  knew  him  well  for  years.  His 
Bible  and  his  mother  were  his  counsellors  ;  the 
34* 


402  THE     HARVEST     PAST. 

Sabbath  was  his  delight.  He  sought  the  Lord, 
and  found  him.  And  when  giving  me  an  account 
of  the  manner  in  which  his  mind  had  been  in- 
fluenced in  respect  to  his  salvation,  he  referred  to 
what  his  dying  brother  had  said  to  him.  But  he 
made  this  reference  with  evident  reluctance  and 
pain,  weeping  in  bitterness  of  spirit.  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe,  that  both  he  and  the  widow  of 
his  departed  brother  are  the  children  of  God, 
through  faith  in  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ. 


DOCTRINES  AND  DEATH. 


A  few  years  after  I  was  settled  in  my  congre- 
gation, a  family  moved  into  the  place  from  an- 
other section  of  the  country,  and  took  a  seat  in 
our  church.  The  husband  and  wife  both  brought 
letters  of  dismission  from  the  church  where  they 
had  lived,  and  became  members  of  our  church.  I 
soon  became  acquainted  with  them,  and  much  in- 
terested about  them.  They  were  little  more  than 
thirty  years  of  age,  active,  wealthy,  and  of  good 
education,  had  seen  much  of  the  world,  were  en- 
ergetic in  all  that  they  undertook ;  and  I  thought 
them  capable  of  doing  much  good.  I  therefore 
took  the  more  pains  to  know  them  well.  They 
entered  very  readily  into  our  plans  and  ways,  and 
their  aid  was  beneficial  to  us. 

But  it  soon  became  manifest  to  me,  that  the 
wife  was  not  well  satisfied.  She  did  not  much 
complain,  or  find  fault,  so  far  as  I  know;  but 
many  of  her  expressions,  uttered   in  conversation 


404  DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH. 

with  myself  and  others,  indicated  a  dissatisfied 
mind.  Whether  this  dissatisfaction  was  personal 
towards  myself,  or  had  reference  to  the  con- 
gregation, I  could  not,  at  first,  even  conjecture. 
She  had  been  educated  in  her  youth,  in  another 
denomination,  whose  forms  of  worship  differed 
from  our  own  in  some  degree  ;  and  I  deemed 
it  probable,  that  she  did  not  feel  quite  at  home 
among  us.  I  respected  her  the  more  on  this  ac- 
count. I  did  not  think  it  would  be  wise  to  let 
her  know,  that  I  perceived  her  dissatisfaction ; 
but  I  determined  rather  to  be  faithful  and  friendly 
to  her,  and  let  her  dissatisfaction  wear  off,  as  I 
trusted  it  would.  She  had  never  mentioned  it  to 
me,  and  if  I  should  mention  it  to  her,  I  thought 
it  quite  likely  that  she  would  throw  off  all  restraint, 
and  be  confirmed  in  her  unhappy  dislike.  I  there- 
fore, always  treated  her  just  as  if  she  were  satisfied 
with  me,  and  with  her  fellowship  in  the  church. 

As  time  passed  on,  I  became  more  and  more 
convinced,  that  her  dislike  had  respect  to  myself. 
I  aimed  to  conjecture  what  it  was  in  me,  that  did 
not  suit  her ;  but  I  could  form  no  opinion.  She 
might  disliKe  me,  as  a  man  ;  or  she  might  dislike 
me,  as  a  minister  :  I  could  not  tell  which.  Or  her 
dislike,  on  either  one  point,  might  lead  to  dislike, 
on  the  other.  But  as  she  never  disclosed  her  feel- 
ings to  me,  I  never  disclosed  my  knowledge  of 
them  to  her. 


DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH.  405 

But  after  she  had  remained  with  us  about  three 
years  ;  I  supposed  that  I  had  discovered  clearly 
the  grounds  of  her  dissatisfaction.  She  did  not 
like  some  of  my  preaching ;  indeed,  very  little  of 
it  suited  her.  I  could  at  times  perceive  this, 
when  she  was  listening  to  my  sermons.  And  in 
conversation  with  her,  when  she  adverted  very 
modestly  to  my  preaching,  and  expressed  her  opin- 
ion, that  some  particular  sermons  were  likely  to  do 
good,  and  that  she  did  not  believe  some  others 
were  so  appropriate,  I  perceived,  that  she  disap- 
proved of  the  greater  part  of  my  sermons.  She 
disliked  those,  which  she  called  "  doctrinal."  Such 
themes  as  human  sinfulness,  divine  sovereignty, 
justification  by  faith  in  Christ  simply,  regeneration 
not  by  baptism,  but  by  the  Holy  Spirit  aside  from 
baptism,  the  unbending  nature  of  the  law  of  God, 
the  justice  of  God  in  the  condemnation  of  sinners, 
and  the  obligation  resting  upon  sinners  to  repent, 
especially  because  God  proffers  to  them  the  aids 
of  the  Holy  Spirit — these  doctrines  did  not  appear 
to  be  acceptable  to  her.  My  mind  apologized  for 
her  dislike,  by  the  fact,  that  she  had  been  edu- 
cated in  another  denomination,  and  by  the  recollec- 
tion of  the  strength  of  our  early  preferences. 
However,  as  she  had  not  complained  of  my  preach- 
ing, but  had  only  spoken  in  the  way  of  inquiry 
and  suggestion;  all  I  could  do  was,  first,  to  refer 
to  the  Bible,  and  show,  that  in  my  preaching  I  had 


406  DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH. 

not  given  to  such  subjects  a  greater  proportionate 
regard,  than  the  divine  writers  had ;  and  then,  to 
explain  to  her,  how  such  subjects  were  the  most 
important  and  practical  of  all  possible  things,  be- 
cause they  were  the  facts  in  the  case,  because 
they  addressed  metis  hearts,  and  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  religion  there,  in  the  heart's  experience  of 
God's  truth,  by  the  power  of  the  Holy  Spirit. 
This  explanation  appeared  to  cut  her  to  the  heart. 
But  she  did  not  complain. 

By  many  things  in  her  appearance  and  conver- 
sation, I  was  convinced,  after  a  time,  that  some 
change  was  taking  place  in  her  religious  views 
and  feelings.  The  nature  of  the  questions  she 
sometimes  put  to  me,  about  experimental  religion 
especially,  convinced  me  of  this.  She  had  never 
told  me  so,  however,  in  any  very  plain  manner  ; 
and  I  did  not  deem  it  best  to  make  any  inquiries 
about  it.  But  she  became  a  personal  friend  to  me 
very  evidently,  not  only  as  a  man,  but  especially 
as  her  minister.  And  she  used  to  urge  upon  the 
attention  of  her  friends,  as  I  learned,  the  truths 
which  I  preached  ;  and  used  to  urge  them  to  "  at- 
tend the  church  and.  listen  to  every  word  so  as  to 
understand."  In  this  friendship  and  confidence, 
her  dissatisfaction  all  gone,  she  continued  to  live  in 
the  church,  manifestly  a  growing  and  happy  be- 
liever, till  the  day  of  her  death.  The  very  doc- 
trines, which  she  had  disliked,  became  the  delight 


DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH.  407 

of  her  soul ;  and  sho  often  requested  me  to  go  to 
some  other  places  which  she  named,  and  preach 
there  the  sermons  which  she  had  listened  to  at 
home  ;  "  for,"  says  she,  "  the  people  there  do  not 
hear  these  truths,  and  do  not  know  how  precious 
they  are.  I  did  not  use  to  hear  them  when  I  was 
there." 

At  one  time,  a  friend  of  hers,  a  young  person, 
had  united  with  the  denomination,  to  which  she 
formerly  belonged.  But  though  this  young  person 
stood  in  such  relation  to  her,  that  it  would  nat- 
urally have  been  expected,  that  such  a  profession 
of  religion  would  have  been  made  known  to  her  at 
the  time  ;  yet  it  was  kept  a  secret  from  her — she 
knew  nothing  of  it,  till  some  little  time  after  her 
young  friend  had  been  to  the  communion.  She 
then  ascertained,  that  her  own  mother  had  advised 
the  young  person  to  this  step.  It  grieved  her 
much.  She  could  not  think  it  was  right.  She 
thought,  that  some  stronger  evidence  of  fitness, 
than  her  young  friend  possessed,  was  requisite  for 
church-membership.  In  the  pain  of  her  heart, 
she  spoke  to  the  old  lady  about  it:  "Why, 
mother!"  said  she,  "  How  could  you  advise  it?  I 
think  it  is  just  the  way  to  deceive  souls !  You 
seem  to  suppose,  that  baptism  and  the  church 
ordinances  are  everything !  I  thought  you  had 
learnt  better  !  That  is  just  the  way  you  brought 
me  up  ;    and  if  I  had  not  learnt  better,   I  should 


408  DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH. 

have  been  ruined  forever  !  And  now,  you  have 
just*led  this  young  creature  astray;  and  I  am 
afraid  she  will  never  find  it  out,  till  it  is  too  late !" 
— This  she  told  me  herself  with  deep  affliction  and 
tears  ;  and  asked  me,  if  she  had  said  anything  dis- 
respectful, or  what  was  wrong  in  such  a  case. 
She  said,  she  wished  to  "  honor  her  mother,  but 
she  could  not  avoid  speaking,  when  she  was  so 
much  afraid  this  poor  young  creature  would  be  led 
to  ruin !" 

When  she  came  to  her  last  illness,  I  saw  her 
often.  Her  sufferings  were  very  great,  continu- 
ally. Her  patience  never  forsook  her,  for  a  mo- 
ment. She  never  uttered  a  single  syllable  of  com- 
plaining— not  a  murmur  escaped  her  ;  though  her 
exceeding  pain  sometimes  compelled  her  to  shriek. 
As  I  visited  her,  from  time  to  time,  for  conversation 
and  prayer,  she  was  accustomed  to  speak  freely  to 
me ;  and  after  I  had  left  her,  I  used  to  write  down 
some  of  her  expressions,  part  of  which  I  here  tran- 
scribe. 

About  ten  days  before  her  death,  I  found  her  in 
the  most  excruciating  agony.  She  said  to  me,  "  I 
am  in  great  pain.  I  never  knew,  what  pain  was, 
before.  But  my  Grod  sends  it ;  and  I  know  it  is 
good  for  me,  or  he  would  not  bring  it  upon  me,  so 
dreadfully.  I  do  not  complain.  I  sometimes 
scream,  because  I  cannot  help  it.  But  do  not 
think  me  impatient,  because  I  scream.     If  I  could 


DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH.  409 

avoid  it,  I  am  sure  I  would.  I  am  afraid  my 
friends  will  think  me  impatient,  and  think  religion 
is  not  such  a  support  as  I  tell  them ;  but  it  is  only 
my  poor  body  that  troubles  me.  My  mind  is  at 
peace.  Christ  sustains  me,  or  I  could  never  en- 
dure this.  And,  as  you  have  often  told  us  in  your 
sermons,  that  afflictions  are  benefits  to  Grod's  chil- 
dren ;  I  find  it  so  now.  Indeed,  I  can  see  now,  as 
I  look  back,  that,  in  all  my  life,  Grod  has  given  me 
my  richest  mercies,  in  the  shape  of  crosses.  Yery 
often,  I  did  not  know  it,  at  the  time;  but  I  know 
it  now.  I  praise  him  for  it  all.  He  sustains  me. 
I  have  dreadful  pain,  but  I  have  precious  peace. 
My  Saviour  makes  good  to  me  his  promises,  as  you 
have  so  often  assured  us  he  would.  I  find  now, 
that  it  is  true.  I  believe  it  now,  in  a  way  that  I 
never  believed  it  before." 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  she  said,  "  I  am  glad 
you  have  come.  I  want  you  to  pray  with  me,  and 
thank  the  Lord  for  his  goodness.  I  am  in  no  less 
pain,  but  I  am  supported  wonderfully.  I  find,  that 
I  know  a  great  many  things  about  religion  now, 
which  I  never  understood  before.  You  have 
taught  us  a  great  deal  about  the  promises,  and  liv- 
ing by  faith  ;  and  now,  I  know  what  it  means. 
Faith  is  everything.  It  gives  me  patience.  It 
gives  me  love  ;  and  leads  my  heart  to  rest.  You 
have  not  taught  us  too  much  about  it,  nor  said  too 
much  about  Christ.     He  is  all  in  all  to  me. 

35 


410  DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH. 


x 


"  When  I  have  a  little  more  strength  as  I  hope 
I  shall  have,  before  I  die ;  I  want  to  say  some- 
thing to  you  about  yourself.  I  can't  •  say  much 
now.  If  you  will  come  in,  another  time,  when 
you  can  ;  I  will  say  more.  I  want  to  tell  you 
something  about  your  preaching.  It  was  a  long 
time,  before  I  could  be  reconciled  to  your  way. 
I  did  not  like  it.  I  was  blind,  and  did  not  un- 
derstand why  you  should  preach  so  much  about 
Christ,  and  the  atonement,  and  our  evil  hearts  of 
unbelief,  and  the  Holy  Spirit,  and  sovereign  grace 
to  justify  us,  and  prayer.  But  I  understand  it  all 
now.  And  I  find  it  all  true ;  as  I  hope  to  be  able 
to  tell  you  more  particularly,  at  another  time." 

The  next  day  when  I  went  in,  she  seemed, 
after  a  little  while,  to  muster  her  remaining 
strength,  and  gather  up  her  thoughts  for  what  she 
called  "  something  in  particular."  She  said  to 
me,  (speaking  with  great  effort,  and  slowly  and 
solemnly ;)  "I  wish  to  thank  you  for  instructing 
me  as  you  have  done,  out  of  the  scriptures.  I 
hope  you  will  continue  to  press  upon  your  people, 
as  you  are  accustomed  to  do,  the  Bible  itself. 
The  forms  of  religion  are  nothing.  Since  I  have 
been  sick,  it  has  been  a  great  comfort  to  me  to  go 
to  the  Bible.  I  can  remember  the  chapters  I 
have  heard  you  read  in  the  church,  and  the  texts, 
and  the  doctrines  I  have  heard  you  preach ;  and 
now  they  comfort  me.     Many  a  time  when  I  have 


DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH.  411 

gone  to  church,  I  should  have  been  pleased,  I  sup- 
pose, to  hear  you  preach  some  fanciful  sermon, 
as  some  ministers  I  know  do ;  but  you  would 
come  out  with  some  scripture  doctrine,  and  urge 
us  to  examine  the  Bible,  and  see  if  these  things 
were  not  so  ;  and  it  has  done  me  a  great  deal  of 
good.  I  think  it  has  been  the  means — one  great 
means,  of  fixing  my  faith  just  on  the  scriptures, 
so  that  now  I  am  comforted  by  them.  If  you  had 
not  done  so,  I  never  should  have  had  this  strong 
faith  in  my  Grod.  I  might  have  got  it,  perhaps, 
in  some  other  way,  if  you  had  not  preached  so, 
and  insisted  upon  the  scriptures  so  much  ;  but  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  never  should.  And  I  want 
you  to  keep  on  so,  and  (rod  will  bless  you  in  it. 
I  want  you  to  continue  to  urge  upon  the  people, 
as  you  used  to,  the  Bible  truths  and  doctrines. 
They  will  not  all  like  it  any  better  than  I  did  at 
first ;  but  I  hope  the  Lord  will  instruct  them  to 
hear  his  great  truths.  They  have  done  me  good, 
— great  good.  They  comfort  me  now.  Some 
ministers  talk  about  other  things,'  such  as  the 
lives  of  men ;  but  that  does  not  do  me  any  good, 
except  the  lives  of  those  mentioned  in  the  Bible. 
Your  preaching  led  me  to  examine  (rod's  word,  to 
see  if  the  things  you  preached  were  so  there  ;  and 
I  found  them  so.  I  thank  you  for  it  all.  I  hope 
you  will  urge  it  still  upon  the  people  to  turn  to 
the  Bible,  and  find  the  truths  you  preach  there. 


412  DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH. 

The  Bible  is  enough.  It  is  precious  to  me.  It 
contains  all  I  want.  I  hope  you  will  not  be  dis- 
couraged, if  the  people  do  dislike,  some  of  them, 
your  humbling,  solemn  way.  Keep  on.  They 
may  learn  better,  as  I  did.  And  then  they  will 
have  precious  promises,  and  precious  doctrines  to 
lead  them,  and  not  care  about  forms  and  ceremo- 
nies, or  speculations  and  fancies." 

On  another  occasion,  when  I  saw  her,  she  spoke 
of  herself.  "  I  am  to  die  very  soon ;  and  I  am 
ready  to  die.  I  did  not  think,  last  night,  that  I 
should  be  here,  to-day.  I  slept  a  little.  This 
dreadful  pain  had  exhausted  me  ;  and  when  I 
waked  up,  I  was  sorry  to  find  myself  here.  I 
hoped  I  should  have  been  with  Christ.  I  would 
not  be  impatient ;  but  I  hope  Grod  will  take  me 
away  soon.  I  do  not  fear  death.  Some  people 
speak  of  it  as  a  dark  valley ;  and  so  I  suppose  it 
is,  of  itself.  I  believe  the  scriptures  call  it  so. 
But  it  is  no  dark  valley  to  me.  It  is  all  light. 
The  promises  shine  on  it.  They  shine  beyond  it. 
Christ  is  with  me,  and  I  trust  himP 

The  day  but  one  before  she  died,  she  said  to 
me  : — "  I  took  the  Bible  to  read  this  morning,  and 
I  came  upon  the  place  where  Paul  speaks  of  being 
'  clothed  upon  with  our  house  which  is  from 
heaven.'  It  led  me  to  think  of  what  I  am  just 
coming  to.  I  hope  I  have  got  almost  home ;  and 
I  trust  I  shall  not   be   disappointed.     I  am  now 


DOCTRINES     AND    DEATH.  413 

ready  to  go.  God  has  been  very  merciful  to  me, 
keeping  my  mind  in  this  perfect  faith  and  peace. 
When  I  was  first  taken  sick,  I  had  been  in  a  cold, 
backsliden  state  ;  and  I  murmured,  for  some 
time.  But  I  am  fully  satisfied  now.  My  trials 
have  been  good  for  me, — all  good.  God  does  all 
for  me  that  I  want,  through  my  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  He  has  brought  me  to  these  sufferings, 
and  I  thank  him, — I  thank  him  for  it  all.  He 
has  been  with  me,  and  kept  me  full  of  peace  and 
joy.  I  have  settled  all  my  worldly  affairs  ;  and  I 
have  nothing  now  to  do,  but  to  think  of  God  and 
heaven.     I  have  given  up  all. 

"  I  have  been  surrounded  with  kind  friends, — . 
nothing  but  kindness  all  the  time  ;  and  their 
kindness  overcomes  me,  and  brings  these  tears. 
I  have  found  it  difficult  to  be  reconciled  to  part 
with  them,  and  give  them  all  up  ;  but  I  have 
been  able  to  do  it  satisfactorily.  Some  of  them  I 
hope  to  meet  in  heaven.  (She  mentioned  their 
names.)  They  are  professors  of  religion  ;  and  I 
hope  true  Christians.  But  what  grieves  me  most 
of  all  is,  that  I  must  leave  some  of  them,  not 
knowing  that  we  shall  ever  meet  again !  (She  men- 
tioned their  names.)  They  are  not  professors,  and 
I  suppose  are  not  Christians  !  I  do  not  know  as  I 
shall  ever  see  them  again  !  This  grief  overwhelms 
me  !  I  don't  know  what  will  become  of  them  ! — 
But  grace  is  all-sufficient, — I  leave  them  with  God 

35* 


414  DOCTRINES     AND     DEATH. 

"  I  have  always  felt  that  a  Christian  ought  to 
die  rejoicing.  In  dying  we  are  going  home  to  our 
Saviour.  Christ  is  with  me  all  the  time,  and 
gives  me  peace, — sweet  peace  to  my  soul ; — and  I 
hope  he  will  not  leave  me  in  the  last  hour.  I 
trust  he  will  not.  I  have  been  afraid  my  faith 
would  fail  then,  when  I  come  to  the  waves  of 
Jordan ;  but  I  trust  him,  and  I  am  happy  to  think 
I  have  got  so  near  home." 

Such  were  some  of  her  death-bed  expressions. — 
Her  joy  increased  as  she  neared  her  end,  till  it  be- 
came the  most  triumphant  and  rapturous  exulta- 
tion; and  she  died  with  the  words  of  joy  and  ec- 
stasy literally  upon  her  lips  : — an  unfinished  ivord 
of  praise  and  exultation  being  the  last  word 
she  attempted  to  utter.  It  was  commenced  on 
earth,  and  finished  in  heaven. 


THE     END. 


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